


My Man

by penguinated



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguinated/pseuds/penguinated
Summary: Reader is an American Broadway star currently doing a production of Funny Girl on West End. She’s a widow. Her husband died in Vietnam. It’s not something she shares with the public, or anyone really. She’s also not into rock music...or so she would have everyone believe.





	1. Chapter 1

You ran your brush through your hair just once more. The wig cap always left it flat but frizzy in a way that you had to carefully tame it before twisting it up into your usual bun. You swept your bangs behind your ear and then heard a knock at the door.

“Y/N, ma’am?” the security guard called from the other side. “The VIP guests are here.”

You sighed. Your director told you there was going to be a “special guest” at the show tonight who would be visiting the dressing rooms with their date. He didn’t say who it was, only that “you’ll know him when you see him.” 

“Show them in,” you said, getting to your feet and facing the door.

The security guard pushed it open and you sucked in a quiet breath. The last person you ever thought would come to Funny Girl on West End was Roger Taylor, drummer for Queen. You didn’t recognize his date, though. When you saw his expression, you narrowed your eyes. He was clearly bored. He looked at your dressing room the way school children looked at a history museum. 

“You did wonderful tonight!” the date squealed, breaking your thoughts. “I’m such a fan! I’m Jackie,” she added, offering her hand.

You smiled warmly as you shook it. “Y/N Y/L/N,” you said. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

“It was amazing,” Jackie insisted. “Wasn’t it, Rog?”

At last he looked at you. Something shifted in his eyes as you met his gaze. You knew that look. Men like him had been looking at you like that since you were fourteen.

“Yeah, it was brilliant,” he said with disinterest. “You’ve got a helluva voice.”

“Thank you,” you returned. “And you are?” 

He blinked in surprise. You held back a smirk as you watched him struggle with not being recognized. You certainly had his attention now. 

“You don’t know?” Jackie questioned with a gasp. “This is Roger Taylor!”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name,” you lied. “What do you do, Mr. Taylor, that makes you a name I should know?”

“I’m a musician,” he said, irritation furrowing his brow. “In a band. Queen, actually.”

“You  _ must _ have heard of Queen,” Jackie pressed. 

You shook your head and smiled innocently. “I haven’t.”

“We’re on the radio,” he said, almost incredulous. 

“They’ve been on television too,” Jackie added.

“I must have missed you,” you said with a shrug. “Although I’m sure you’re very talented.” 

You knew you were being condescending but you couldn’t stop. His attitude and his looking had rubbed you completely the wrong way and you wanted to punish him for it. He glared and you and you tried not to look smug.

“They’re great,” Jackie said, oblivious to the growing tension. “I mean, they can’t do what you just did, but they’re a great band.”

He glowered at her and you turned away so he wouldn’t see you laugh. 

“Right, we’ll be going now,” he spat, taking her hand and leading her out of the room.

“It was wonderful to meet you!” she called, and you waved, before Roger slammed the door behind them.

“Thank God that’s over,” you huffed, returning to your seat in front of your mirror. 

You carefully opened the vanity drawer and retrieved your two most cherished items - your wedding ring, which you slipped onto your finger, and the wallet-sized picture of your husband, George. You always thought he looked so handsome in his uniform. The eagle, globe, and anchor of the US Marine Corps suited him so well. You ran a shaky finger across the portrait and felt your heart ache.

“I met your idol tonight,” you said softly as your throat got tight. “I was kind of a bitch to him, too.” You let out a small laugh. “I wish you could have seen it.”

You gazed at his frozen smile and wiped a tear threatening to leak from your eye. Finally you stood and retrieved your coat. You slid the photo in your pocket. Donning your performance smile, you left and headed for the stage door to sign programs and greet the audience. Your show was not quite over yet.  

 

The incident of Roger Taylor had bothered you for a few days. You wondered if you were being needlessly petty, but you quickly dismissed the idea. If he hadn’t acted the way he did, you wouldn’t have felt so defensive. Just when you were starting to forget about it, it happened again. Only this time, you had no warning until moments before he entered your dressing room. He seemed in a hurry.

“Well, Mr. Taylor, I can’t say I was expecting - ” you began, but he cut you off.

“Listen,” he said. “I need you to pretend last week never happened.”

“Why?” you demanded.

“I don’t need this date to know I had another date here,” he explained. “Trying to be romantic and all that. I did not realize musicals made women so...willing.”

You frowned at him. “Why on Earth should I do this for you?”

He shrugged. “Just to do a guy a solid? Sure, last time, you kind of pissed me off, but I got a great shag.”

“Mr. Taylor, I want you to know that as of now there is no one in the world who has a lower opinion of you than I do.”

“I can live with that,” he returned, smirking. “The feeling’s mutual since you’ve got no taste in music.”

“Excuse me?!” 

“You don’t even know who Queen is!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “I didn’t realize Queen was the pinnacle of musical achievement! How silly of me! What is Mozart or Irving Berlin compared to the likes of  _ Queen _ ?! After all, they’ve been on  _ television _ !” 

“There’s no need to have a go at Jackie, she’s a sweet girl,” he said, laughter spreading across his lips. 

“Not sweet enough to have for more than one night, apparently,” you spat. “I can’t believe you’re not taking these dates seriously. A West End ticket is a rather expensive way to just get laid.”

“It’s worth every penny,” he said. 

You opened your mouth to retort, but an interruption appeared in the shape of a woman who must have been his date.

“Sorry!” she cried. “I got lost on the way back from the loo.”

“No worries,” Roger assured her. “Donna, this is Y/N Y/L/N.”

Donna took your hand before you could offer it and shook it with such enthusiasm you nearly lost your balance.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” you said kindly. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Oh, yes!” she sighed. “You sang so beautifully. Especially ‘My Man.’”

You looked down and smoothed your skirt. “It is a very emotional song.”

“How do you manage it?” she asked.

You smiled at her. “It’s a simple trick, really. I sing it to my husband.”

“You’re married?” Roger asked, genuinely stunned.

“I am, Mr. Taylor,” you said and felt the hot tears pricking your eyes. “I see that shocks you.”

“It does, a bit, yeah,” he admitted.

“Is he here?” she wondered.

You shook your head and blinked back the emotions. “Not tonight, I’m afraid.” You waited a beat and then took a deep breath. “Would you like me to sign your program?”

“If you don’t mind!” she accepted, and handed it to you gratefully. 

You scribbled your name across the front and returned it to her.

“Thank you for coming,” you said. 

“Thank you for the private meet and greet,” she replied. 

“You ready to go, sweetheart?” Roger asked her. “She’s only got a few minutes before she’s got to be at the stage door.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Donna agreed. “Thanks again!” she said to you.

“Absolutely, Jackie,” you said, shooting a glance at Roger. “Oh, pardon me, Donna. So sorry.”

If looks could kill, Roger’s glare would have made you drop dead. 

“No worries,” Donna said politely. “I know you meet loads of people.”

“You’re very kind,” you said. “Have a lovely rest of your evening, you two.”

She said one last goodbye, and Roger said nothing before storming out of your dressing room once again. You snickered, hoping you’d finally seen the last of him. 

 

The following week, you were just finishing your nightly talk with George when your director barged into your dressing room. You placed your picture on the vanity and whipped around.

“Gary, what the hell?!” you cried.

“It’s not just Roger Taylor tonight,” he said, breathless. “It’s the whole band! They want to meet you!”

You gaped at him. “Wh-but I don’t have time! What about everyone waiting outside?”

“Y/N, it’s Queen,” he insisted. “You go out the stage door with them, this show will get more publicity than we could even hope for. Especially if they liked it!”

“Funny Girl doesn’t need the approval of a stupid rock band,” you said.

“I do hope that stupid rock band you’re referring to isn’t Queen, darling,” came a voice from the doorway. Its source was none other than Freddie Mercury. He was trailed by Roger, Brian May, and John Deacon.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks in shame. “I didn’t mean - ”

“Don’t take it personal, Fred,” Roger interrupted. “She hasn’t even heard our music.”

“Now that I do take personally,” Freddie teased, looking at you. “Why not?”

“It’s just not really my style,” you explained sheepishly. 

It was one thing to lie to Roger to embarrass him in front of a date. It was another to say those things to Freddie Mercury, a person whose respect you’d like to have. You squirmed a little with discomfort.

You made proper introductions at last and they all complimented your performance. You told them how grateful you were for their attendance. Really, they were all very kind, but throughout the meeting, you felt Roger’s eyes on you. It took a lot of your resolve not to stare back and demand what he wanted from you. 

“Well, darling, I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Freddie said, looking at the clock. “But Roger just wouldn’t shut up about you, so we had to see what all the fuss was about.”

Brian and John chuckled as Roger looked away. The color drained from your face and you pretended to be suddenly interested in your nails. 

“Would you like an escort to the stage door?” Brian asked.

“She’d love it,” Gary interjected before you could speak. 

You shot him a glare, but complied. Then you noticed Gary and Freddie making hungry eyes at one another. You reached for your coat but Roger beat you to it.

“Allow me,” he offered, opening it for you to slide your arms in.

“Thanks,” you said stiffly as you shrugged it on with his assistance. 

You turned back to grab George’s photo. After placing it in your usual pocket, you allowed the band to lead the way out the door. 

“Oh, by the way,” Freddie said as you walked. “I’m having a fabulous party at my place tomorrow night. You simply must come, Y/N.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you returned. 

“She’s a married woman, Fred,” said Roger. 

“So what?” Freddie returned. “Bring him along if you like.”

You didn’t answer. How you wished you could bring George. You wanted it so bad your chest tightened.

When you emerged from the stage door, all thoughts of your husband were erased by the onslaught of flashing lights and shouts of excitement.

“Is that Queen?!” “Oh my God!” “We love you, Freddie!” and more all blurred together in an amount of noise that could have knocked you off your feet. 

A reporter you were familiar with caught your eye and you walked over. She was beaming as she kept looking past you at the band.

“Y/N, you know Queen?” she wondered.

“Not well,” you replied, yelling over the din. “We just met tonight actually! They liked the show!”

Freddie appeared seemingly out of thin air and spoke to the reporter.

“This girl is bloody brilliant, darling, and you may quote me on that,” he said with a cheeky grin. “One of the best on West End, and she’s not even English!” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. He was infectiously charming. He kissed your hand before going to sign some autographs. A crowd began to form around the building as onlookers noticed who was there. The small crowd was becoming a swarm. Your heart rate picked up at the sight. You bid your reporter friend goodbye and started down the street. You slipped away unnoticed by the Queen fans. 

Four or five people followed behind you. When you faced them, you saw they were people who had come to your show for you. You sighed with relief and approached them.

“Sorry,” you said as you signed the programs. “I don’t make a habit of running off, but it’s not about Funny Girl over there anymore, huh?”

They agreed and thanked you for stopping to talk to them. You loved your theater community. The masses of rock fans could never be your life. As you made your way back to your flat, the noise of the Queen frenzy dying behind you, you heard someone call your name.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

You turned and saw it was Roger. 

“Mr. Taylor,” you said. “I’m surprised you made it out alive. Have your bandmates been devoured?”

“They’re big boys, they can handle it,” he replied, smiling. “Hope you’re not offended by the crowd. But you see now why I was surprised you didn’t know me - I mean, us.”

“Was that what all this was? To prove to me how popular you are?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. So, how come you were so much nicer with my friends around?”

You took a moment before you answered. With a wicked grin, you met his eyes. “Well, they’re just all so good looking, it would be impossible to be rude.”

He snorted. “Oh! I see how it is!”

“I hope you do,” you said with a laugh. “The truth is,  _ you’re _ a lot nicer with your friends around, too.”

“Let me walk you home,” he offered. “As a truce.”

“If I say yes, will you stop bringing your dates to my dressing room?”

“I promise.”

“Very well, Mr. Taylor. You may walk me home.”

As you walked beside him, you felt a new easiness. Perhaps there was more to him than the womanizer you met before. Perhaps that was the show he put on.


	2. Chapter 2

You lay awake that night contemplating Roger. His bandmates really made him more tolerable to be around. When he just brought his dates to your dressing room, you thought he was coarse and conceited, but with the rest of Queen in the room, he helped you with your jacket and then offered to walk you home like a gentleman. Just who was he? Which was the true Roger? Were either of them the true Roger?

With a sigh, you rolled onto your side and looked at the clock. It was well past two in the morning. Sleep eluded you once again. It always made you thankful your job was in the evenings. Working a typical nine to five would have killed you since your depression kept you awake when the night was as dark as your thoughts. 

Every book and article told you to take moments like this to call someone. But who would be there for you? Your parents hadn’t spoken to you in nearly a decade. Your friends back home only made it worse. All of them still had their husbands, and most of them had children now. It was only a harsh reminder of what was taken from you. They were supportive, but they just didn’t understand a bit of what you were going through. 

Forgoing sleep, you threw the covers off yourself and got out of bed. You padded out to the kitchen and opened your fridge. An unfinished bottle chardonnay sat front and center on the shelf, and you grabbed it by the neck. You yanked the cork out and took a swig. With a snicker, you thought of what your mother might say if she saw you now. Her proper little lady drinking wine out of the bottle and living on her own without a chaperone or a husband. 

You took a couple gulps.

You stumbled a bit making your way over the couch. You switched on you TV and surfed through the basic channels. A late night re-run caught your eye. It was a fucking Queen performance they had done a couple years ago. Rolling your eyes, you downed the remainder of the wine. Your head began to swim as you realized this much wine was a mistake when you hadn’t eaten since the previous morning.

“Ugh,” you groaned. The camera panned to Brian and then Roger. You looked upward and addressed the heavens. “You’ve got a really awful sense of humor.”

Irritated, you smashed the power button and turned it off. Roger Taylor was just another man. Why was the universe forcing him on you?

That afternoon, you walked into your dressing room knowing you looked hungover. You had come across a bottle of vodka after the wine and drank a large portion of that as well to get Roger Taylor off your mind. It worked, but it cost you. 

“You look terrible, Y/N,” Gary said as you shrugged your coat off.

“Get bent,” you returned.

“Rough night?” he asked, ignoring your rudeness.

“I had a normal night,” you said. “I just added some wine...and some liquor. Leave me alone.”

“You sure a certain drummer didn’t keep you up?” he teased.

“Gary, I’m gonna lose my shit on you.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Don’t bite my head off, girl.”

“Do  _ not _ call me girl.”

“You are a girl,” he said. “You’re Funny Girl Fanny Brice and if you don’t start acting like it I’m calling your understudy.”

You flashed him a sarcastic smile.

“That’ll do for now. I need you on stage in ten minutes for warm ups.”

He smiled and wiggled his fingers at you on his way out the door. You took a seat in front the mirror, taking your ring off, and retrieving your makeup. You put it on carefully, thankful for something to focus on.

When showtime came and the curtain went up, you flipped the switch in your brain to be your actress persona. You became Fanny once again and were relieved that for a few hours, you could be someone other than you. You could escape inside her each night. When you were Fanny, you were free.

But then it ended. The curtain fell, the lights dimmed, and Fanny was just a character on a page. The real world snatched you back into its cruel clutches. After taking your bows, you returned to your dressing room. 

You changed for the party Freddie invited you to, suddenly considering blowing it off. What could be gained by going? Feeling more lonely than ever in a house full of people? More infuriating confrontations with Roger? What was the point?

Well, you did really like Freddie. He was awfully sweet to you and it was kind of him to invite you at all. A lot of people would kill for an invitation like that. Sighing, you changed into your jumpsuit and heels. As you headed out the door, you felt your nerves start up. Then you remembered what George used to tell you when you were feeling insecure.

_ You’re a goddess, baby. They just can’t handle your light. _

Smiling to yourself, you stood a little taller as you walked out. That was what you’d always loved about George. He made you shine. 

When you arrived at Freddie’s home, you didn’t let it intimidate you. You knocked on the door and a man you didn’t recognize answered. 

“Can I help you?” he asked in a thick Irish accent.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you told him. “Mr. Mercury invited me over.”

“Did he now?” the man returned, skeptically. 

“Uh, yes,” you said, annoyed now. “Why are you being such a di - ”

“Y/N!” Freddie’s cry cut across you. “Step out of her way, Paul, she’s a friend.”

The man named Paul obeyed and you stuck your tongue out at him while Freddie’s back was turned. When he faced you again, he pulled you into a hug.

“It’s wonderful to see you, darling,” he said. “How’d it go tonight?”

“Same as always,” you told him. 

“Well then it was fucking fabulous, wasn’t it?” he said with a grin.

You beamed back. “It was, Mr. Mercury, thank you.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Beer is fine.”

He had someone bring it to you, and you thanked them. You followed Freddie to another room where you saw the rest of the band. Brian and John both had dates, but Roger had two women with him - one on each side. You fought a brutal urge to roll your eyes. Freddie disappeared to the beckoning of another guest, so you made your way over to the familiar faces.

“Evening, gentlemen,” you greeted. “May I join you?”

“By all means,” Brian said, pulling up a chair. 

“Thank you, Mr. May,” you said, taking a seat.

You chatted with them for a bit. It was nice to interact with people, even though you had been scared before. The women there were also friendly. You felt normal for a little while.

After about a half an hour, a slow song came on over the speakers. Roger locked eyes with you and smiled. He got up and offered you his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked. “That is if your husband doesn’t mind.” 

He pointed to a man in the corner, dancing wildly by himself. You laughed.

“ _ Not _ my husband,” you said, taking Roger’s hand.

He led you out where there was some room and then placed one hand politely on your waist. You swayed with him for a moment, keeping a safe distance between you. The other couples were almost completely engulfed in each other. 

“So, where is your husband this evening?” he asked.

You swallowed. “He couldn’t make it.”

“Awfully elusive, isn’t he?” he remarked.

“I guess you could say that,” you returned, looking down.

He took your chin in his thumb and forefinger and lifted your eyes to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, shaking him off. “Of course.”

A few beats of silence passed between you before you spoke again. “I didn’t take you for much of a dancer, Mr. Taylor.”

“I’m not usually,” he said. “But I have a weakness for a beautiful partner.”

“You had one,” you replied, not taking the bait. “Two, in fact.”

“Are you jealous?”

“You’re an infant.”

He laughed. “There she is.”

“Perhaps you were guessing who might be the best dancer,” you joked. 

“Would that be you?” he asked.

“I am a classically trained ballroom dancer, Mr. Taylor,” you said, and it was true. “I know the foxtrot, the waltz, quickstep, et cetera, et cetera. And when I started doing musicals I learned to tap as well.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about dance?”

He chuckled. “Fascinating as your resume is, that’s not what I’m after.”

“What can I help you with then, Mr. Taylor?”

“That’s what I’m asking about. You can call me Roger, you know. What’s with all the formality?”

That was a difficult question to answer. Your upbringing was so rooted in you in some ways. And calling a man who was not you husband by his given name was something you always struggled with. Especially when you didn’t know him very well. How could you explain the conservative brainwashing you’d received as a child?

“I was just raised that way,” you said. “Some habits are hard to break.”

“It just makes you sound like you’re in a Jane Austen novel,” he said..”

“Have you even read a Jane Austen novel?”

“Course I have, I went to university, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t ask if you were  _ assigned _ Jane Austen. I asked if you actually  _ read _ it.”

“For your information, I did,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Which one?” you wondered.

“Pride and Prejudice,” he said.

“Naturally.”

You paused again.

“Can I ask you something now?” you put forth.

“Fire it off.”

“How come you wanted to see me again? Mr. Mercury said you couldn’t stop talking about me. But I was really rude to you.”

“The first time, I didn’t want to see you again,” he admitted. “But then Jackie kept talking about how glamorous it was and - like I told you - we had a wonderful night together. I figured I’d give it another go even if you did annoy me. When you talked about your husband, you seemed more human. It made me think of Pride and Prejudice, actually.”

“You think I’m Lizzie Bennett?” 

He shook his head. “No, I think you’re Mr. Darcy.”

Your mouth dropped and you stopped moving. “You think I’m  _ Mr. Darcy _ ?! Why?!”

“Because you’re rude but in a way that tells me there’s something deeper,” he explained with a chuckle. “And I think it’s got something to do with that missing husband of yours.”

He moved to begin dancing with you again, but you dodged his arm, looking away. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I was only joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” you replied. “I’m sorry too, it’s just...it’s complicated.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that.”

You bit your lip as you looked toward the door. “I should go,” you said before meeting his eyes just once more. “Good night, Mr. Taylor.”

You left before he could say any more.


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening, when you were in your dressing room, several of your castmates, including your co-star, Eric, and Gary swarmed in, demanding to know the details of a Freddie Mercury party. They all were speaking at once, asking questions about his house, what he was like, what you did, what everyone else did, and if you met the rest of the band.

“Stop!” you cried, exasperated and not registering any of it. “The party was fine, but I didn’t stay long.”

“Why?” Eric asked. “Was it too wild?”

“Was it too boring?” Gary added.

“No, it was a perfectly adequate amount of entertainment,” you said. “But I don’t really feel like discussing it. Could you all please leave my dressing room? We have a show tonight, you know.”

Disappointed, they all filed out and dispersed. Gary and Eric stayed behind. 

“Was there something else you needed?” you asked.

“Did something happen at the party?” Eric wondered, gently. “Was it safe?”

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” you explained. “Nothing happened that was inappropriate. I was treated with nothing but respect. I would just like to maintain my privacy and the band’s.”

“So you did see the rest of them?” Gary questioned. 

“Ugh, just get out,” you groaned, yanking your door open and gesturing for them to leave. “I need to get dressed.”

They hesitantly obeyed. You released a sigh of relief. You didn’t mind being the center of attention as Fanny Brice, but you did mind it as yourself. You were always a private person, and your parents had made your more private than was humanly possible. Mostly because you had to hide everything from them until you finally left home. 

The show went smoothly, and as you returned to your dressing room, you found yourself missing Roger. You absurdly wished for him to show up, even if he did have a date. You just had a need to not be alone tonight. You didn’t want to go to another party or anything, but the thought of returning to your empty flat made your shoulders sink. You looked at your picture of George and tried to smile.

“What am I doing?” you wondered aloud. 

You tried to imagine what he might say to you, but nothing was coming. That was unusual. You furrowed your brow and stared harder, but the only thing your mind could produce was Roger Taylor calling your Mr. Darcy. His rich voice and thick accent ran through your brain like a waterfall. It was loud, beautiful, and thrilling. 

But then a cloud of guilt came over you. How could this happen? You were attracted to Roger Taylor? While looking at a picture of your husband! You felt like you were being unfaithful. You had not felt attracted to a man since your husband. You never let yourself. It felt dirty and wrong and like the ultimate betrayal. You shook your head to try and clear it.

“No,” you said, looking up. “You cannot make me want him. I’m refusing.”

You snatched George’s picture, shoved it into your pocket, and marched out the door. When you greeted the fans at the stage door, you smiled and said warm hellos. As you signed programs and greeted them, you were able to feel good for a moment. 

Then you walked to your flat. A surprise met you there that made you want to kick the universe’s ass. 

“Mr. Taylor,” you greeted, trying to sound less annoyed than you were. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to take you out for a drink, Mr. Darcy,” he said with a smile. “Is your husband home?”

You looked down. “No.”

“Alright then, let’s go!”

He took your hand to try and lead you away but you remained rooted to your spot. 

“Mr. Taylor, what are you doing?” you asked. 

“Being nice?” he returned.

“But...why? What for? You know I’m married. What do you hope to gain from all this?”

He released your hand. 

“I want to get to know you, Y/N,” he said. “You’re the first woman in the world who hasn’t treated me like a - I dunno - a god or something and I like being around you.”

His eyes bored into yours. The bright blue color made you feel like you were drowning. His words made your heart thunder in your chest. You wondered if he could hear it. 

“You like...being around me?” you repeated, wanting to hear him say it again. 

You felt your resolve failing. Your assertion to the universe that you would refuse him...well, a fat lot of good that did you now.

“Yeah,” he said. “I don’t really know how to explain it other than you make me...quiet.”

“Well, you’re going to have to explain that more,” you said, a smile claiming your lips. “You may do so over a drink.”

He grinned. “Let’s go.”

He took you to a small pub around the corner from your flat. You took seats at the bar and ordered a couple beers. 

“A toast,” he said. “To making friends.”

“To making friends,” you agreed and clinked glasses.

You took a sip together. 

“So,” you said. “What do you mean exactly when you say I make you quiet.”

“I just mean that I always feel like there’s noise all around me,” he began. “Between rehearsals, shows, dates, parties...but all that goes away when you’re there.”

“Is it because I’m rude to you?” you wondered.

“It’s part of it,” he laughed. “But it’s also because you treat me like any other man.”

“Mr. Taylor,” you said. “I promise you I will always treat you like a human being. Even if you are a rock god.” You said this last bit with a teasing lilt to your tone.

“You think so? You’ve listened to our music now?”

“Can I admit something to you?” 

“Please do.”

“I did know who you were when you walked into my dressing room that night,” you said, blushing as an expression of amused disbelief claimed his features. “I’ve actually been to a Queen concert.”

He threw his head back with a laugh. 

“Well, you really are a great actress,” he said finally. “I believed you.”

“I’m glad you’re amused and not offended,” you replied. 

“Which concert were you at?”

“It was in Sydney,” you told him. “George and I were on an anniversary trip and he was the biggest fan of Queen. He had a wonderful time.”

“Did you?” he asked.

“Oh, of course,” you said. “God, if he knew I was getting a drink with Roger Taylor…” you trailed off. 

“He’d give you a free pass?” he joked.

“Naughty!” you cried, punching him on the arm. “But honestly, he might have.”

“Well, the man’s got good taste, I’ll give him that,” he said.

One drink turned into five and once again, your head swam with the alcohol in your system. Roger finally cut you off and insisted on walking you home after he paid the tab. You thanked him and he slipped an arm around your waist so you wouldn’t fall as you walked. When you got to your place, he opened the door for you and you made a beeline for the kitchen, desperate for water.

“Can I get you something?” you asked.

“Water, please,” he requested. 

You were just tipsy enough that he ended up getting them instead. You sat on the couch. When he handed you your glass, you drank deeply from it. Roger didn’t sit. Instead, he walked over to your fireplace. On the mantle was a framed photo of George with his dog tags draped on the frame next to the flag you received at his funeral. Roger looked back at you with a sympathetic gaze.

“Your husband...he’s not coming home, is he?” he asked. 

You decided you no longer cared to keep this from him. “He’ll never come home again.”

“How’d it happen?” he wondered. 

“Vietnam,” you said, and you felt more tears filling your eyes. “I don’t know all the details. But I know that there wasn’t anything left of him. His body...it was completely destroyed.”

You sniffled. Your vision blurred as the tears spilled over so you didn’t see Roger move to the couch. But you felt him wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to the top of your head. In the safety of his embrace, you let out a sob. You were so tired of carrying your heavy heart around. And Roger was so warm and inviting. Like your own bed after a long trip. You could sink into him and rest at last.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered. 

“And the worst part is, I could have had something of him,” you said. You decided you were ready to tell someone about what was causing you all this pain. You had confessed this to no one else. “Just before I got the letter that he’d been killed...I found out I was pregnant. But three weeks later I lost the baby. I had the only physical bit of him left and I failed him.”

“Oh, Y/N, don’t say that,” he said softly. “These things happen. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t shake the guilt,” you said. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Listen,” he began, breaking away from the hug so he could look you in the eyes. “Do you even know how strong you are? You go on stage each night and make people laugh and cry and feel better. And you’ve done it all while falling apart over this. He’d be bloody proud of you. God knows I am.”

“Thank you,” you said, wiping a tear from your cheek. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you showed up tonight. I really needed a friend.”

He looked at you for a long time. He leaned forward and you feared for a moment he would try to kiss you. But he didn’t. He just offered a sweet smile. 

“Glad to be of service,” he said. “Now that we’re friends, will you start calling me Roger?”

You giggled. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Taylor.”

After he left, you went to bed. Sleep came more easily now that you felt a little lighter. But all of a sudden, you felt someone crawl into bed beside you. You rolled over to see who it was. You smiled lazily when you met Roger’s beautiful eyes. He grinned back before cupping your cheek with his hand. He made gentle strokes with his thumb and you closed your eyes to the contact.

He pulled you close. You chests were pressed hard together as he deepened the kiss. You let out a soft moan as his hand traveled from your face, down your neck, and finally stopping on your breast. He massaged it gently through the fabric of your nightgown and you gasped, breaking away from his lips. 

Then he rolled on top of you. You buried your fingers in his hair and urged him to kiss you again. He did and when he needed air, he trailed his lips down your jawline before finding a sweet spot next to your ear that made your hips jump to meet his. A familiar warmth surged in your lower belly and you whined with a need you hadn’t felt in the two years since George’s death.

Roger knelt between your legs and his hands floated down to the hem of your nightgown. He pushed it gently upward, his palms just barely grazing your thighs as he went. You squirmed, heels pushing into your mattress with frustration and desire.

You opened your eyes and bolted upright, breathing heavily. You looked around and thankfully, Roger was not actually there. It was just an incredibly vivid dream, you realized with relief. Your chest heaved and you felt cold sweat all over your flushed face. You threw your covers back and ran to your kitchen for water. You had to cool off. You drank a few gulps of water but still felt a heat between your legs.

“Oh God,” you sighed. “I’m in so much trouble.”  


	4. Chapter 4

Over the coming weeks, your time with Roger became as sacred to you as the hours you were on stage each night. He was so open and fun and passionate, and he brought that out of you whether you realized it or not. In the years after losing George, you became a ghost. A shadow of a woman who went through the motions. You only showed energy on stage. With Roger, you were alive. You were an active participant in your spirit flourishing. Even Gary told you that your Fanny Brice was improved. You sang more soulfully, your jokes hit harder, and your tears meant more.

You could not place when exactly Roger had done this for you. But you guessed it was the slow chipping away at the wall around your heart. It had taken years to build. Now came this idiot drummer with a good smile and wicked humor. It made you incredibly happy but more conflicted than ever.

You could not deny your attraction to him after that first of several erotic dreams about him. Even when you were awake and he touched your arm or hugged you, you thought about what it would be like. Not only to make love to him, but to be his. To give him your heart completely. 

Then you remembered George. True, it had been years, but he was the only man you’d ever been with. And you thought the love you shared with him was once in a lifetime. When he died, you told yourself there was no way you could ever feel that again. But with Roger, you felt the butterflies and the happiness. It was less hopeful than with George, since you were terrified of being hurt more than ever. Your heart was beaten and battered and you did not think you could take it if you lost Roger too. All the emotions would hit you at once and you’d get so overwhelmed. Weirdly enough, the person to calm you down was always Roger. 

You also hung out with the band a lot. They were always popping over to each others’ places and spending time, even outside the studio. It was very sweet. 

One day, you were at Roger’s and he was playing around on the drums. You liked to watch him play because his focus was incredible. You got to see how seriously he took his craft. It reminded you of all your late nights going over lines or pushing your voice to hit a note just once more. You had never realized how much went into drumming before.

“How do you do that?” you wondered aloud.

He stopped. “Do what?”

“Look so effortlessly talented.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you joking?”

“No!” you assured him. “You just make it look so easy.”

“It’s not,” he replied, smiling a little. “But don’t you think you do the same thing?”

“I don’t look like I’m having nearly as much fun,” you said.

“I disagree.”

“Could you teach me?” you asked suddenly.

His face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Hell yeah!”

He beckoned you over and let you take a seat behind the drum set. He stood behind you and guided you through a couple beats from Queen songs. You struggled through it, often doing the same thing with both hands.

Chuckling, he said, “Let me help you.”

He wrapped his hands around yours and moved them for you, slowly. His touch was soft and warm and you could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned over you. It sent a shiver down your spine. 

Then he watched you attempt it again. You couldn’t help but notice the way he bit his lip watching you play. After a few more tries, you got it on your own. 

“I nailed it!” you cried, excitedly. “But seriously, I don’t know how you do this.”

“Years of practice,” he returned. “Just like you, I expect.”

“That’s true.”

“Can you teach me something?” he asked, a sly look on his face.

“What could I possibly teach you?” you returned. 

“Teach me to dance,” he said.

“I suppose I can try,” you agreed. “Move the couch back and I’ll move the coffee table.”

You did so, and it left ample space for the pair of you. He met you in the center of the room, and you were barely a foot from one another. You moved to adjust his arms for his frame before coming to stand in front of him again. 

“Have you ever done the foxtrot?” you asked.

“Never in my life,” he told you.

“Okay,” you said with a laugh. “It’s not too difficult, I swear.”

You showed him the basic steps; what to do on which count and how to hold his frame. You felt a bit flushed at times when he was holding you so close. You took a turn about the room, and he finished with dipping you, causing you to laugh.

“Very good!” you praised as he led you upright again. 

“Have I swept you off your feet?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I’ll just have to keep working on it then,” he said.

“Let’s put the furniture back,” you said. 

Just when his living room was returned to its usual state, the door burst open. In walked Freddie, John, and Brian. They looked at Roger expectantly.

“What is it, guys?” he asked.

“Did either of you read the latest issue of  _ In Tune _ ?” Brian asked.

_ In Tune _ was a gossip magazine specifically about musicians. It was generally considered garbage, and yet they still sold out on shelves. Even a fake scandal was better than nothing, apparently.

“No,” you answered. “My eyes happen to be attached to my brain.”

Roger sniggered. John tossed you the magazine.

“You two made the front page,” he said.

“What?!” you gasped, looking at the cover.

It was true. There was a photo of you and Roger leaving a movie theater. The headline read, “Roger Taylor’s New Flame! A Secret Wedding?” In the corner, they had placed a close up of your left hand where your wedding ring was visible.

“Alright, Y/N, front page!” Roger joked, offering his hand for a high five. 

You gave it to him, grinning. “Tony’s be damned, this is the greatest accomplishment of my life!”

They all laughed. 

“How did you find this?” you asked.

“Saw it on the news stand,” Brian explained.

“I was just so thrilled they weren’t talking about me for once,” Freddie added.

“Did you read the article?” you wondered.

“No, we figured we’d wait and share that with you,” Freddie said.

You checked the cover and saw that the story was on page thirteen. Eagerly, you flipped to it and began to read aloud; “ _ Roger Taylor, drummer for the infamous rock band Queen, was spotted coming out of a London cinema with a mystery lady last weekend. We suspect the pair eloped and have been together for months, as Taylor has not been seen in public with the usual amount of bimbos around him _ \- now, that’s rude -  _ for several weeks. Also, the new woman wears a plain band on her left ring finger. Could it be the playboy drummer has settled down at last? We intend to find out more! _ \- Ugh it just goes on about women you’ve taken out before.”

“Do they really not know you’re the star of a West End show?” John wondered, taking the magazine and scanning it. “That seems rather ignorant.”

“That’s  _ In Tune _ for you,” you said. “All about the rock stars and disco divas. Nothing about us poor, untalented Broadway performers.”

“It does mention you were seeing  _ Grease _ ,” John pointed out.

“Well, that is vital information,” Brian said.

Freddie looked at Roger. “Really?  _ Grease _ ?”

“She likes musicals!” Roger returned indignantly. “Also it was a cheap, late night showing.”

“A right Prince Charming, you are,” Brian remarked.

“Shut up,” Roger retorted. 

“Really, you’d think you could splurge for the new Mrs,” you chimed in.

“Alright, next time I’ll take you to Paris,” he said. “How’s that for romance?”

“Can we still go see  _ Grease _ though?” you said through a laugh.

“Sorry, but John Travolta’s head is too large for his body and it freaks me out,” he replied.

You giggled. “What the hell?”

“It’s just a thing,” he said with a shrug.

“My darlings, we’ve got to be at the studio,” Freddie interrupted. “We’re already late.”

“Only ‘cause we picked you up first,” John said.

Freddie grinned and then looked at you. “Would you like to come along?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got to get home before I head to the theater.”

“Want me to walk you home, Y/N?” Roger offered.

“No, thanks, I can make it,” you said. 

“Have a good show,” he told you.

“Break a leg, darling,” Freddie said. “And come have dinner with us when it’s over.”

“You’ve got it, Mr. Mercury,” you promised.

You left after hugging them all. As you walked, you reflected. Each time you left Roger, your guilt subsided a little. You felt lighter than air as you entered your own flat. But your thoughts were interrupted when your phone rang.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Y/N,” the voice on the other end of the line was your agent, Stephen. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all, what’s up?” you asked.

“I’ve got incredible news for you,” he said. “There’s a production of Oklahoma in the works for here on West End, and the director is in town today. He called me and asked if you’d be willing to try for the part of Laurie!”

You nearly dropped your phone. Laurie was your dream role. The one that made you want to be an actress in the first place. 

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, a little breathless. “I’m just - you know how I feel about that role!”

“I do, dear!” he returned. “I’m so excited for you! Can you meet him tomorrow at his hotel room?”

You froze. Meeting a stranger at his hotel room seemed odd. It was far from professional. You normally met a director or producer at a theater if they didn’t have an office. 

“Is everything okay?” Stephen asked. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but he’s heading to America in three days to meet with the guy he wants for Curly. If you want me to tell him you can’t- ”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll go there,” you said, trying to sound more easy about it than you were.

“Great, I’ll let him know,” he said. “He wants to meet at two.”

He gave you the address and you wrote it down. You thanked Stephen and when you hung up, you squealed.

“I’m going to be Laurie!” you cried, pumping your fist in the air. 

Later that night, you met up with Roger and the guys for dinner like you promised. As soon as you got to the restaurant, you ran to Roger and leapt into his arms. He spun you around and kissed your cheek.

“What’s got into you?” he wondered.

“I got the best news before the show tonight,” you said. 

You explained to them what your agent said and they congratulated you. Roger was silent, though.

“What?” you asked. 

“I don’t like the idea of you meeting him in a hotel room,” he said. “It’s sketchy.”

“Come on, Rog, you heard what she said,” Brian said, comforting. “It’s an unusual circumstance. I’m sure they’ll meet again properly, but she’s got to get her foot in the door.”

“Thank you, Mr. May,” you said, and then turned back to Roger. “Can’t you just be supportive?”

He frowned but agreed. “Of course. Congrats, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you returned, but the tension remained the rest of the night.

When dinner was over, Roger did walk you home. As you fell in step beside him, his silence made you crazy. It felt childish but you refused to be the first one to speak. If he had a problem with how you handled your career, that was on him. You had nothing to apologize for.

“Can I see that address again?” he said, coming to an abrupt stop.

It was an odd way to begin an apology, but you obliged. You fetched the slip of paper from your bag and handed it to him. 

“This is right around the corner from the studio,” he said. “Will you come by afterward and tell me how it goes?”

You beamed. “Of course I will!”

“Wonderful,” he returned and then gave you the directions. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“You know me,” you said. “You know I’ll be careful. Plus, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need protecting. Okay?”

With an irritated sigh he said, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” you returned. “Now, get me home, I’m getting cold.”

He didn’t reply, but took you under his arm for the rest of the walk.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! This part has an attempted sexual assault. A couple things I promise for this: 1) It doesn’t last long, 2) I will be telling you exactly where it starts and stops so you can skip it if you choose, and 3) It’s not just for shock value/drama, there’s a plot reason.   
> If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. You are not alone.  
> RAINN Sexual Assault hotline:   
> US & Canada: 1-888-407-4747   
> International:+1 202-501-4444   
> They also offer live chat :)

The next day, you carefully decided what to wear to the meeting with the director, whose name was Mark Hudson. You were actually a fan of his from seeing his production of  _ The Music Man _ a few years ago back in New York. It was amazing and you were thrilled to see what he could do with a Rodgers and Hammerstein classic like Oklahoma. You decided on a dress, to look more demure like Laurie. It also hugged your body in the right places, which you liked for auditions and meetings so that directors could see your type. 

As the afternoon closed in, you felt your nerves begin to flutter around in your stomach. It had been a while since you’d gone for a new role. Your New York agent had secured Fanny for you before you even got to London, so you were feeling a little unsure. You fidgeted with your hair once more, sweeping it into a bun before leaving your flat early so you would appear punctual. 

Your agent told you to go straight to Mark’s room when you arrived. He was in 317, so you walked straight past the front desk and got the lift. You pressed the button for the third floor and waited for the doors to close, feeling your heart rate increase with excitement. You couldn’t believe you were on your way to get your dream role. 

With a soft ding, the doors opened for you on the third floor. You made your way down the carpeted hallway, and held tighter to your purse with anticipation. Luckily, the room was toward the front of the corridor so you didn’t have to go far. With a deep breath to calm yourself down, you knocked gently on the door.

When it swung open, you were face to face with Mark. He was a handsome man - dark hair, light brown eyes, and a strong jaw. He clearly took care of himself as well. His biceps and pecs were threatening to tear the tight t-shirt he had on. 

“Y/N!” he cried, clearly delighted and extending his hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you, kid! I’m a big fan!”

“Likewise, Mr. Hudson!” you returned, shaking his hand as he let you inside. “I’m so thrilled you thought of me for Oklahoma. I’ve wanted to be Laurie since I was six.”

He laughed, closing the door behind you. “I’m happy to give you the opportunity. Please, come in.”

You followed him further into the room. It was a standard hotel room, but large with a desk on one side toward the window. He poured himself a glass of brandy. 

“Would you like one?” he offered. 

You shook your head. “No, thank you. I’d rather get straight to business.”

“Very serious, I see,” he said, sounding impressed. “I like that. So, I’ve seen you in Funny Girl and your agent sent me the rest of your resume. You’ve definitely got the singing chops to be my Laurie. My only concern is your dance experience.”

He took a seat at the desk and motioned for you to sit across from him. You did.

“What about it?” you asked. 

“Well, you’re not a ballerina,” he said. “And the show does have a ballet in the first act.”

“I’m familiar,” you said. “But trust me when I say, I am willing to work hard to learn. My ballroom training can help me, and I’ve done bits of ballet in other shows.”

“I believe you, kid,” he said. He grabbed a cigarette from the box on the desk and looked at you before lighting it. You noticed his eyes lingered a moment on your chest. “Do you mind?”

Used to Roger’s smoking habit, you said, “Not at all.”

After taking a long drag, he looked you up and down again. “You are beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you,” you replied, looking at your lap as a blush spread across your cheeks. 

He groaned. “Oh, I love the look of humility on a woman.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair. You didn’t know how to answer that. 

“I’m gonna level with you, Y/N,” he said. “I wanna give you this part.”

You grinned. “Really?! Oh, Mr. Hudson, that’s great news!”

“Don’t get too excited,” he said. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me first.”

“You want me to keep it a secret that you didn’t have me audition?” you guessed.

“Actually,” he said, rising from his seat and moving to stand over you. He put his hand to your cheek and then slid it down to your neck. You wondered if he could feel your pulse quicken. “I had something else in mind.”

You had to play dumb. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” he insisted, glancing between you and the bed. 

You got to your feet, brushing his hand away. Anger roiled in your stomach at the audacity to suggest such a thing. 

“Mr. Hudson,” you said. “There are some things I am unwilling to do for my career. I am a married woman, after all.”

“I know your husband is dead,” he said, and he took hold of your arm, squeezing. “You’re not married. And I know you’re not with Roger Taylor either.”

“Would it matter if I was?” you replied, trying to stall. His grip on you was like a chain and he was blocking your path to the door. 

“Not even a little bit,” he whispered and then yanked you into him.

******HERE’S WHERE THE SEXUAL ASSAULT STARTS - SKIP TO THE NEXT SET OF STARS IF YOU DON’T WANT TO READ******

You held your lips closed as he tried to kiss you, struggling against his hold. You brought your hands to his face and started to shove him away. He stepped back, but he still had a hand around your arm. 

“Let me go!” you demanded, attempting to pull it free, and trying to maintain your calm. You hoped your voice didn’t betray how scared you were. “Now!”

“As an actress, I thought you’d be better at taking direction!” on the last word, he brought back his free hand and slapped you hard across the face. 

The sound cracked like a whip through the mostly empty hotel room and the force was enough to knock you off your feet. You were so stunned, you didn’t even know if you cried out. The skin around your eye was already throbbing. He let go of your arm as you hit the ground, only to shove his fingers into your hair, his nails scraping your scalp. Your hair fell around your face as it lost its style. 

You whimpered as he pulled you up and tossed you - your body limp from shock - onto the bed. You tried to gather your thoughts, but you couldn’t focus. You cheek hurt, your scalp stung, and you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or yell. 

Quickly, he crawled on top of you. Out of instinct alone, you brought your leg up to try and kick him off. He grabbed both your knees and sat on them, holding you down with his legs. You squirmed with your upper half to try and wriggle free, to no avail. As his hands came down toward the straps of your dress, you tried to slap them away. 

“NO!” you screamed. “GET OFF OF ME!”

His hand seemed to snap in place around your throat, and all noise ceased as you now fought for breath. It made your head swim and your vision go blurry. 

“Be quiet, or I’ll make you,” he warned through gritted teeth. 

With that, he let you breathe as he grabbed the strap of your dress and ripped it. He pulled the neck line down to reveal your breast. You felt a pang of regret at not wearing a bra. He took hold of it and squeezed so hard you yelped in pain. You grabbed his arm to try and pull his hand away, but he was too strong. With his other hand, he mirrored his actions on your other breast. It was so painful you felt a tear leak out and roll down your cheek. 

When he let go at last, you let out a breath of relief, but not for long. He sat back, took hold of the hem of your dress, and shoved it up your thighs. You shivered with the cold blast of air that hit your legs. He grinned, and then your eyes went wide as he started to unbuckle his belt. Something surged in you, and you brought back your right hand to swing it as hard as you could onto his left ear. 

“Fuck!” he cried, and his legs let up just enough for you to get a foot out from under them, which you drove hard into his chest, forcing him off you at last. 

******END OF SEXUAL ASSAULT******

When he fell to the side, you scrambled away as fast as you could and hurtled for the door. You didn’t turn to see if he pursued you as you tugged on the handle and fled down the hall. When you got to the stairwell, you thought enough to hold your dress over your exposed chest, but you did not stop running. Your lungs felt like they were on fire as you went. You tore through the lobby, ignoring all the stares and shouts of surprise from onlookers. You had to get to the studio. 

When you rounded the corner to the street the recording studio was on, you slowed to a walk. Your chest heaved with your winded lungs. You felt heavy and like every part of you was sore. You could not process what just happened. Those sort of things happened to other people. You were supposed to be going to tell Roger you got the part. How were you going to tell Roger this? Shame crawled over your skin and you felt dirty all of a sudden. 

More tears welled up in your eyes as you went through everything you were feeling. Shame, anger, regret, guilt, sadness. It was too much. You heart couldn’t take it. It was beating so hard you thought it was trying to escape from your ribcage. You wanted to go with it. To shed your skin and become a person who had not been touched by Mark Hudson. You wanted Roger, too, but you felt a little afraid to face him. He knew this would happen and you felt so stupid for not listening. 

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Even so, you continued on your way to the studio. You could see it now. The front door was your refuge. You looked over your shoulder finally, to be sure Mark wasn’t following you. To your great relief, he wasn’t. Swallowing through the tightness in your throat, you opened the door to the studio. 

You had been before so you knew where to go. You walked down the hall, and to the door of the booth. When you opened it, you saw Mary there with Paul, Jim Beach, and John Reid. 

“Christ,” she gasped. “Y/N, what’s happened to you?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t form words. What  _ had _ just happened to you? How could you even begin? You couldn’t. You let out a wail and fell into Mary’s arms. She held you tight, rubbing comforting circles on your back. 

“Roger, you better get in here!” Reid called. 

The whole band came in, and when they saw you, they shot questioning looks at Mary. She took hold of your shoulders and had you look up. 

“Y/N, what’s going on?” she asked again.

Through your tears, you took in Roger’s familiar form, and you felt so awful. He looked at you with an confusion and worry. 

“Roger,” you began, your bottom lip quivering. “Roger, I…” you didn’t finish, as you darted over to the nearest trash bin and vomited into it. 

“Shit!” Roger hissed and knelt down beside you. From this angle, he could see the damage to your dress and the purple bruises blooming across your skin. 

You couldn’t look at him. He reached out for you, but you recoiled.

“No, don’t touch me!”

He stopped, clearly hurt, and gave you some space. Then you watched him ball his hand into a fist as he jumped to his feet.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said, and stormed toward the door.

“No, Rog, wait!” Brian urged, grabbing hold of Roger’s arm. 

“Let go, I’m gonna murder that piece of shit!” Roger yelled. “Get the fuck off me, Brian!”

The idea of Roger leaving caused you to panic. You extended a trembling hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, tugging lightly. He turned to look at you and his face softened. Finally, you met his eyes. It was the first time since you’d known him you saw tears in them. 

“Don’t leave me, Roger,” you begged. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, my darling,” he sighed as he knelt down again. “Can I...can I hold you?”

You considered it. You desperately wanted his embrace but you felt so undeserving of it. If you had only listened to him!

“Please, Y/N,” he said again.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Roger.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” he asked, as gently as he could.

“You knew this would happen,” you explained. “I was such an idiot. I should have listened to you. I’m so, so sorry.” You broke down again. “I don’t…I don’t deserve you.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are,” he replied, and he choked a little on the last word. “This isn’t your fault, Y/N, do you hear me? This is in no way your fault.”

You began to shiver. You couldn’t accept his words, either. All you could do was look at him and feel the whirlwind that swirled through your heart. You hardly even noticed when Brian generously draped his jacket over your shoulders, careful not to actually touch you. 

“Roger,” Mary said. “She needs to be taken to hospital. That way they can report it to the  police.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t want to report it.”

“Y/N,” John said. “If he ra -”

“He didn’t,” you interrupted. “He just tried to.”

You thought this might make you all feel better, but it didn’t. You were still a shivering mess on the floor, wounded in ways far beyond the bruises. 

“You should at least tell your agent,” Reid said. “If it were someone I was managing, I would want to know.”

“Would that be alright?” Roger asked you.

You nodded. After all, Stephen would be calling to find out how it went. You’d have to tell him something.

Freddie squatted down in front of you. “Can you put your arms through the sleeves, darling?” he asked. “I’ll zip you up.”

You gave him a frightened glace and he held his hands away from you. 

“I won’t touch you, I promise.”

Holding the top of your dress, you slipped your arms into the jacket one at a time. You sat up a little and held it up again while Freddie reached out and deftly hooked the zipper and pulled it all the way up. You were certain you looked ridiculous, but that didn’t matter now.

“Mary, could you help her up?” he asked, backing away. 

“Sure,” she said, and put her arm around your shoulders. “Come on, love. Up you get.”

With her help, you pushed yourself onto your feet. John took a step toward you.

“Hold out your hand, Y/N,” he said.

You did so, but Mary had to hold it still. He dropped a mint into your open palm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing it to your mouth. The flavor helped you feel fresher and settled your still unruly stomach.

“Let’s go,” Roger said.

You and Mary followed him out the door, quiet as a funeral procession. When you got to the street, Roger looked in the direction of the hotel and his jaw clenched. Mary hailed a cab. You gave the driver the address of Stephen’s office. As he pulled into the traffic, you found yourself numb. What had been a storm of feelings had slowed to a flat lake. You wanted to sleep or get drunk. To be anything but what you were in this moment. 

When you arrived at the office, you told the receptionist you needed to see Stephen right away. She paged him and then told you to go ahead inside. The three of you entered, he took in the sight of you, and he looked down.

“Oh, no,” he sighed. “Did he get carried away?”

Roger lost his shit. In seconds, he had taken Stephen by the collar and slammed him into the opposite wall. Mary gasped, and held you a little tighter.

“You knew?!” he shouted. “You fucking knew this would happen and you sent her over there anyway?!”  
Stephen whimpered. “I - I didn’t know he would get violent!”

The flat lake stirred up as you matched Roger’s feelings.

“You - ” you started but caught yourself choking on the betrayal. “You knew he wanted me to fuck him for the part?”

Stephen couldn’t meet your eyes. “I thought you’d...many actresses do that sort of thing...and he needed…” he trailed off.

“No,” you said, unsure where this strength was coming from. “Finish that sentence.”

“He’s an old friend of mine,” Stephen said. “He said it had been a while for him and he wanted you.”

Roger punched Stephen in the face, sending your agent’s head back, spit and blood bursting from his mouth.

“SO YOU THOUGHT YOU’D JUST WHORE HER OUT SO YOUR MATE COULD GET OFF?!” Roger bellowed. “FUCK YOU!”

He punched Stephen three more times.

“Roger!” Mary interjected, before he could strike again. “That’s enough!”

He released Stephen, who slumped to the floor.

“You’re fired,” Roger said.

“With all due respect, Mr. Taylor,” Stephen returned, blood dribbling from his split lip. “You can’t - ”

“You’re fired,” you cut across him. You looked at Roger and Mary. “Take me home.”

Roger stormed out, you and Mary on his heels. You could hardly remember getting back to your flat, but you were so relieved when you did. Then you weren’t. George’s photo sent another wave of guilt over you. Mark’s words echoed in your mind:  _ you’re not married...you’re not with Roger Taylor either... _

You squeezed your eyes shut. Then, your heart wrenching, you removed your wedding band. You walked over to the mantle and placed it before George’s picture, inwardly sending him an apology. But you couldn't wear it. You weren’t George’s anymore. You weren’t Roger’s. You belonged only to yourself. Oddly, the thought made you feel better. More free. But also pretty lonely.

“Are you alright?” Roger asked.

“No,” you told him. “Nothing is alright.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Mary said. “But I’ve got to get to work. Are you gonna be okay if I leave?”

You looked at Roger and held his gaze as you answered. “Yeah. I’m safe now.”  

She left. A heavy silence hung in the air. Roger took a step toward you before stopping himself. You moved slightly in his direction and he looked at you thoughtfully. 

“I should change,” you said, and disappeared into your room.

You were still shaking as you peeled off Brian’s jacket, followed by your dress. You saw yourself in the mirror at last and took in the sight. You didn’t even look like you. Especially since you’d never had a black eye before. No one had ever hit you before. None of this had ever happened to you before. You thought you might break down again, but you held it together as you grabbed some sweats and a tank top from your drawer. When you were finished, you padded back out to Roger, who had taken a seat on the couch. His leg was bouncing and his hands were in fists again. His knuckles were purple from hitting Stephen, and there was a light spatter of blood on the end of his sleeve.

“Roger,” you said, and he stood up immediately. You held out the jacket. “I’ll let you bring this back to Brian.”

He took it and then looked back at you. “You want me to go?”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

Now the emotions were coming again. When would this back and forth ever end? You could see he was itching to comfort you somehow. To wipe the tear from your cheek, or hug you, or anything to ease the pain. He tossed the jacket onto the couch.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Hold me, please,” you said in a voice so small you were surprised he heard you.

You were ready for his touch at last. You could still feel Mark’s hands on your skin, and you wanted Roger’s arms to take it away. He obliged, and wrapped them around you. Your buried your face in his chest and sobbed. You absurdly noticed how nice he smelled. It was something uniquely Roger and it brought you such a sense of peace. You never wanted to move from this place for the rest of your life.


	6. Chapter 6

You spent the next few days at home, recovering. Roger stayed with you all the time, leaving only for band stuff and to shower and change. You thought about telling him he could bring some things over, but you weren’t sure what kind of message that sent. 

It was Roger who told you that you absolutely could not go back to work. You agreed only because there wasn’t enough makeup to cover the bruise around your eye. You also couldn’t bear the thought of performing “You Are Woman, I Am Man.” It made your stomach clench to even think about. You gave Gary the excuse that you were ill, and he bought it. 

Three days after your assault, you were relaxing with Roger on your couch. You were reading your old copy of  _ Jane Eyre _ , while he dozed beside you, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders. You’d always loved Jane Eyre. When times were hard, you read her story again. You told yourself that if she could overcome the things she did, you could overcome the trials of your own life. 

As you read, you came across a line that struck your heart in a new way: “I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.”

You stopped. Closing the book, you glanced at Roger. He looked at peace as he slept, even with his head back and mouth slightly agape. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and remembered when you first met. He was acting so arrogant and you were so annoyed. Now he was at your side in the most dire situation you’d ever faced. How could this have happened? You, who were so sure you would never love again after losing George, were falling in love with Roger Taylor? 

He didn’t even really look the same to you. Before - and perhaps still to others - he was the great Roger Taylor, drummer for Queen and womanizer extraordinaire. Now, he was just Roger, who held you close and punched your agent and slept on a lumpy sofa for you. Roger, who was talented and smart and passionate. Roger, a man you respected. A man you loved.

But what could ever come of it? He was also your best friend. Had his feelings changed? Had they ripened into this exciting and painful extra emotion? You weren’t even sure if you wanted an answer. 

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Roger shook awake and met your eyes. His sleepy face could have melted all the snow in Siberia. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You wanna get that or should I?” he asked, smirking.

You smiled. “I’ll get it.”

You padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. With a gasp and a cry of delight, you yanked the door open and threw your arms around the visitor.

“Jack!” you cried. “Oh my God!”

He laughed and spun you around. When he put you down, you saw Roger at the door. He looked between you and Jack and frowned.

“Roger,” you said. “This is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is Roger Taylor.”

Roger’s face immediately shifted and he smiled. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand and Jack shook it.

“So it’s true,” he said in almost a whisper.

“What’s true?” you asked.

Jack held up a copy of the issue of  _ In Tune _ about you and Roger. “You’re doing it with the drummer of Queen!” He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing the top of your head to mess up your hair as much as possible. “I’ve never been so proud of you!”

Roger looked away, grinning like an idiot.

“Get bent!” you laughed, shoving him off. “He’s just a friend.” You felt like you were lying as you said this. “Come inside, will you?” 

Jack followed you into the flat, clapping Roger on the shoulder. Roger closed the door behind you. At last, Jack took in your face.

“You look like shit,” he said, playfully.

“Shut up,” you returned, rolling your eyes. “It doesn’t help that you just ruined my perfectly sloppy ponytail.”

“Did you get into another fight?” he asked.

“I’m sorry -  _ another _ fight?” Roger interjected.

“She had an eventful youth,” Jack said.

Roger raised his eyebrows at you. You ignored him.

“Jack, what are you even doing here?” you wondered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled, but it’s such a long trip.”

“Dear Mother and Father sent me after some of their English connections saw the magazine,” he explained, waving it around again. “I’m supposed to set you straight.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asked.

“It usually means she and I get drunk together and then I lie to our parents about it,” Jack told him. “I was kinda iffy about this one but it was a free trip to London, so I thought - what the hell, I wanna see her show anyway.”

“I haven’t been in the show for a couple days,” you said solemnly. “Bruises look especially bad under stage lights.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” he replied. “Do I have to beat someone up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I once tackled you to the ground and made you eat dirt.”

“So?” he returned. “I was like twelve.”

“I was twelve,” you corrected. “You were seventeen.”

Roger snorted and you looked smugly at your brother.

“You know what, that’s fair,” Jack admitted. “But I do still need to know what happened to you.”

You looked down. “Just a really shitty director.”

“Did he try to casting couch you?” he wondered.

You could only nod. Jack pulled you close. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed you on the head. “I love you so much and if I were as strong as you, I’d tackle that asshole to the ground and make him eat dirt.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you clutched his shirt and chuckled. “You’re an idiot and I love you.”

Roger looked at the pair of you incredulously. “You two are giving me emotional whiplash.”

“Sorry, Roger,” you said.

“Oh, are you on a first name basis?” Jack teased, letting you go. 

You looked at him and it hit you all of a sudden that you hadn’t called Roger “Mr. Taylor” since Mark’s attack on you. It just came so naturally now.

“It’s a recent development,” Roger said. “I’ve been begging her to stop with the ‘Mr. Taylor’ but she refused.”

“Some habits are hard to unlearn,” Jack said. “But I’m glad she’s opening up.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up, but stopped when he looked at the clock.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at you. “Rehearsal. I’ll come back after, yeah?”

“Please do,” you replied.

He grabbed his things, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and left with a final wave. 

“See ya, Roger,” you called. 

“Great to meet you!” Jack added as the door closed softly behind Roger. 

Jack whipped around and looked expectantly at you. 

“What?” you asked, more defensive than you meant to sound.

“You love him,” he said.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend,” you answered, too quickly.

“You know damn well I meant you’re  _ in _ love with him,” he said. “Like wanna marry him, fuck his brains out, and have his babies.”

“Jack!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You looked deliberately away from him, biting your lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So why aren’t you with him?”

“There’s a lot that goes into answering that,” you began. “You know me. I overanalyze every part of what I’m feeling until I’m ready to explode.”

“Break it down.”

“I still feel guilty about moving on from George.”

“Okay. And?”

“Roger and I are such good friends, I’m worried if I tell him how I feel, he’ll reject me and I’ll lose him.”

“And?”

“I’m still feeling weird about being touched after being groped by that director.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” you said.

“Liar,” he accused.

Glowering at him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s true.”

“There’s something else.”

You groaned.

“Just tell me!” he insisted.

“I’m…” you trailed off, unsure how to word it. “I’m afraid that I...I won’t be able to please him...y’know...in  _ that _ way.”

“Are you serious?” Jack returned. 

“Yes!” you cried. “I’ve been with one person ever in my life, and I was married to him. Roger Taylor has been with - I dunno - every woman in London. And you should see the women he takes out, Jack. They’re head-turningly beautiful women.”

“Well, according to this bullshit magazine, he hasn’t been out with anyone since you eloped,” he said. 

“We haven’t eloped,” you said.

“Anyway,” he began. “I should tell you that your sexual prowess probably doesn’t matter to him. And you’re every bit as beautiful as any of the girls he’s dated.”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t need to. Remember my first trip home from college? I brought back my roommate and he fell in love with you?”

“What?” you returned.

“God, I was so pissed too because I was convinced he was gay. Then we were up late at night talking, and he said you were so beautiful and all this other crap until he fucking cried.”

You giggled. “I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

“So yeah, you’re pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I do think Roger returns your feelings,” he continued. He held up the picture of you on the magazine. “I mean, look at his face here.”

You did. Roger was laughing as he looked at you in the photo. His arm was around your waist to have you near him. His eyes shone like the moon. Your expression was much the same.

“He looked like that every time he looked at you,” Jack said. “That’s how you look at the love of your life.”

Your face fell at those words.

“I know you feel guilty about George,” he said, not needing an explanation. “I loved him too and I know you risked everything for him. But he loved you so much. He’d never want you to stop living your life on his account.”

“I know,” you said. 

“And honestly, I think he’d be damn proud of you for getting Roger Taylor,” he joked.

“I kinda think so too!”

You laughed together and for a moment you felt like you were a teenager again. Joking around with your big brother and the whole world ahead of you. You would never have guessed you would end up where you were.

“And as for the physical stuff after being hurt by that director,” he continued, serious now. “That’s gonna take time. But I have a feeling that whenever you’re ready, Roger’s gonna be there for you.”

“You got all of that just from the way he looks at me?” you asked.

“It says a lot,” he said with a shrug.

“Thanks, Jack,” you replied. “I’m so glad you’re here to listen to my crazy.”

“What are gay big brothers for?”

When Roger returned that evening, you were nursing a glass of wine. You and Jack had killed a bottle while catching up before he returned to his hotel room. Now, you were back to your book. Roger smiled as he entered your living room.

“Hey,” he said. “Your brother clear off?”

“He went to his hotel room,” you said. “But he’s gonna be here for a week at least. He wants to see me in the show before he goes.”

“Are you ready for that?” he wondered, taking a seat.

You draped your legs across his lap. He gave them a gentle pat with his warm hands.

“I think I will be,” you assured him. “Nothing lifts my spirits like being on stage.”

“I admire your resilience,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment while he toyed with the fluff on your socks. You were suddenly overcome with affection for him. You smiled to yourself, and resumed comfortable silence. Roger did eventually get up to pour himself a glass of wine and then switched on tht TV. You loved just existing in the same room with him. 

That night, you awoke from a deep sleep from the noises in the living room. Thinking Roger had just left the TV on, you got up and headed out to switch it off. When you emerged from your bedroom, you were horrified to see the noises were coming from Roger. He was moaning, covered in sweat, and thrashing on the couch. You recognized this from the nights when George was home from Vietnam. Roger was having a nightmare. A PTSD nightmare.

You flew to his side, calling his name softly so you wouldn’t startle him. You pressed your hand onto his shoulder, and you felt how clammy his skin was. Gently, you rubbed up and down his arm until his movements slowed. He twitched away from you a few times, and you would back off for a moment before trying again. 

“Roger,” you said, a little louder now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. For a split second, he moved away, as if he didn’t recognize you. Clarity swept over him and his hand shot toward you to cling to a bit of your nightgown. His chest heaved with his labored breathing, so you placed your hand over it. You could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer. 

“I’m here, Rog,” you said, cupping his face with your other hand. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He tried to sit up, but you didn’t let him. 

“Easy,” you soothed. “Just rest now, my darling.”

His breathing was still shallow, so you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. 

“Can you do this with me, Rog?” you requested. “Come on, deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and followed your lead. You kept a hand on his chest to feel his pulse as you settled him. His grip on your clothing relaxed as well. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, when he opened his eyes again.

“Yeah...just a stupid dream,” he muttered.

“It looked pretty serious to me,” you said.

“S’nothing,” he insisted. 

You didn’t answer and you shifted your body so that you were laying beside him. Without prompting, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he hooked an arm around your waist. You dragged your nails gently across his back and hummed absentmindedly.

“Sing something for me,” he said.

“What would you like to hear?” you asked.

“Anything,” he told you.

You cleared your throat and began the first song that came to mind. 

“ _ Somewhere over rainbow, way up high _ ,” you began.

He pulled his head back and looked so intensely at you, it took your breath away.

“How’d you know?” he wondered.

“What?”

“That’s the song my mum…” he trailed off. “After my dad was...extra rough, I guess. She sang that for us.”

You realized that must have been what he was dreaming. You ached with sympathy.

“You want me to stop?” you offered.

“No,” he said, returning his head to your shoulder. “No, don’t stop.”  

“ _ There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby… _ ”

As you sang, you considered everything you discussed with Jack, and realized he was right. What you and Roger had was special. You cared about one another in a way that was deeper than bones. It was your souls that spoke to each other. The only thing left to know was who was going to act on it first.

_ If happy little bluebirds fly _

_ Beyond the rainbow _

_ Why, oh why can’t I? _


	7. Chapter 7

Your eyes fluttered open and for a moment, you wondered why you were on your couch. As drowsiness left you, you recalled you fell asleep with Roger. You felt so safe and warm in his arms. He slept soundly beside you. You gazed at him and then you carefully brushed his hair out of his face. He didn’t stir. You could have stayed this way forever, in Roger’s embrace with the soft morning light falling across you both. You hummed contentedly and snuggled closer to him. He reacted accordingly and unconsciously shifted to bring more contact between you. Just when you were going to close your eyes and try to sleep some more, your phone rang.

Roger lifted his head groggily, irritation turning his mouth down. He grumbled something along the lines of “fuck that” under his breath and then held you tighter. You giggled and shoved him off of you. He groaned in protest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come right back,” you said as you walked over to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” came Jack’s chipper voice on the other end. “I’m surprised you’re up.”

“I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t called,” you replied, annoyed. “What’s up?”

“Are you and Roger free for dinner tonight?” he asked. “I’d love to get to know him more. Plus, I’ve got some news I didn’t get to tell you yesterday.”

“Just a sec,” you told him. You called to Roger. “Rog, Jack wants to know if you want to get dinner tonight.”

“He’s calling this fucking early to find out about fucking dinner?” Roger returned.

You turned your attention back to Jack. “He says yes.”

“Great, I’ll come to your place at eight,” Jack said, “Love you!”

You didn’t get to answer before he hung up. You did the same and then headed back to the couch, taking a seat.

“That was weird,” you said.

“I’ll say,” Roger agreed. “It’s the middle of the night, why is he worried about dinner?”

“It’s eight in the morning,” you replied.

“Yeah, it’s the bloody middle of the night!”

You laughed. “We probably should get up.”

“Why?” he replied. “Have you got a date?”

“Does laying on the couch with the drummer of Queen count?”

“Absolutely,” he said with a grin, and opened his arms to you. 

You fell into him and settled down. 

“Thank you, by the way,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder.

“For what?” you asked.

“For waking me up last night,” he said. “And everything after.”

“Roger, you’ve been there for me through so much,” you reminded him. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”

He smiled a little. “Still. I appreciate it.”

“If you never need anything, I’m here for you,” you promised.

You drifted back to sleep for another hour or so. When you woke again, Roger had to go so you decided to practice your Funny Girl songs again. You wanted to be back on stage by the end of the week. You grabbed your sheet music and started your mini-rehearsal. Your voice needed the exercise.

The first song you tried was “Who Are You Now?” The words were getting to you as you reflected once again about Roger. Was he better for earning your love? Were you better for earning his? You resonated with Fanny so much more now that you had someone on whom your affections were placed, whether he knew it or not.

You felt stronger after singing. It always helped you put your emotions out into the world. It was therapeutic. It got you through your loss of George. Now it would get you through the attack by Mark and your feelings for Roger.

That night, after Roger returned and you got dressed, Jack arrived right on time. He had already picked a restaurant for dinner, which you and Roger were relieved to hear, and it was within walking distance from your flat. As you headed down the sidewalk, Roger took your hand. You intertwined your fingers with his and flashed him a sweet smile.

Jack had reserved a table already, so the three of you were seated right away. You told them you were going to the bathroom first and the hostess showed you to it. When you were gone, Roger turned to Jack.

“Jack, can I ask you something?” he asked.

“If you’re wondering if I’m single, the answer is technically no, but for you, I might be,” he joked.

Roger laughed. “I’m flattered. But it’s actually about Y/N.”

“Yeah, what do you need to know?”

Roger hesitated, wondering if he should even ask. It was a heavy question, but he felt weird asking you. 

“How did she end up with George?”

“Oh, God,” Jack began. “They met in school when they were like sixteen or so. Y/N was already not on great terms with my parents because she wanted to be an actress. And then she met George and it all plummeted from there.”

“I don’t understand,” Roger said. “Why would your parents not want her to be an actress?”

“Did she not tell you?” Jack wondered. “Y/N and I were born to one of the oldest and richest families in the United States. She was supposed to marry whatever man they selected and be his little wife. She chose George - a poor kid from the wrong side of town - ran away, and married him as soon as she turned eighteen. Then she started her Broadway career and they disowned her. Took her out of the will and everything. She didn’t give a shit, though. She never wanted their money anyway.” 

Roger sat back in his seat, shock coming over him.

“I guess that’s why it took her so long to move on,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “Until I got back in touch with her, George was the only family she had in the world.”

Before Roger could say anymore, you returned from the restroom and took a seat. 

“Sorry,” you said as you placed your napkin in your lap. “There was a line. What were you two walking about?”

“Nothing, really,” Jack said, since Roger was still recovering. 

You looked at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“So,” you began, turning to Jack. “What’s this big news?”

Jack took a sip of wine before speaking. “Don’t freak out, but, I’m getting married.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Wh...to who?”

“A very nice woman Mother and Father picked out for me,” he said. “Her name is Diane and we got the okay from her father this morning.”

“Jack...I don’t even know what to say,” you said. “Are you happy about this?”

“Of course!” he replied. “We’re gonna be so rich!”

He held up his glass to Roger, who met it.

“But, what about you? You’re not in love with her!” you cried.

“Honey, you know my kind of love will never end in marriage,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“So you’re just going to live this lie?” you wondered. “What about Diane? Can you really give her a life?”

“Look, I’ll do my duties as her husband,” he said. “If she wants kids, fine, we’ll have some kids. I’m just gonna do what I want on the side as well.”

“You mean you’re going to be unfaithful?”

“Ugh, Y/N, you’re looking at this all wrong,” Jack groaned. “I’m going to have the best of both worlds.”

“But it’s not fair to this poor woman,” you insisted. “Jack, why can’t you just be honest?”

“Because not everyone can be as brave as you are, Y/N,” he said. “I want my share of my inheritance and if I have to play by a few rules, then so be it.”

He and Roger shared a knowing glance, but you didn’t notice. You couldn’t believe your brother was capable of something so selfish. It was all brutally unfair. 

“Don’t you want to be happy?” you asked him. “Truly happy?”

“Having so much money that I can do whatever I want will be close enough,” he said. “People like me don’t get happily ever after. But I didn’t tell you this for you to judge me.”

“What do you want then?” you asked.

“I wanted to prepare you because I don’t want you to come to the wedding,” he explained. “I’m not exactly proud of this. And I don’t want you to witness it.”

“Mom and Dad told you I couldn’t come, didn’t they?”

“They did,” he admitted. “But it’s the other stuff too, I swear.”

You sighed. Then you looked at Roger. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drag you into our family drama.”

“No worries,” he said with a shrug. “I admire your moral fiber. But for now, why don’t we just say cheers? Your brother’s getting married, and we should be happy.”

“Thank you!” Jack cried. 

You held up your glass. “Cheers, Jack.”

When you got home that night, Roger helped you out of your jacket when you came in the front door. Immediately, you turned to face him.

“Was I wrong?” you wondered. 

“No,” Roger said. “But neither was Jack. Not everyone can do what you did.”

“What I did?” you asked. 

“I asked Jack about how you ended up with George,” he explained. “He told me about your family and that they cut ties with you over him.”

You looked down. You didn’t know why you felt embarrassed about it. It was something you were proud of. You got away from a situation that would never make you happy and reached out for happiness with both hands. You had it too. Until the Vietnam War snatched it away from you.

“I think it’s amazing,” Roger said. He took your chin in his hand and made you look at him. “You’re amazing.”

“I did what was right,” you replied. “I only want to be happy. I want that for my brother, too.”

“He will be,” he assured you. 

“I hope so.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy?”

You held his gaze. “I could be happier.”

“How can I help?” he asked.

“Kiss me,” you said in barely a whisper.

He did. The feeling of Roger’s lips on yours put everything else out of your mind. Jack’s marriage, your anxiety since the assault, your grief for George, everything. The only thing that existed was the taste of wine and cigarettes lingering on Roger’s mouth. He was soft at first, but after a small moan from you, he deepened it. Your fingers found their way into his hair. You broke apart for air, both breathing heavily. He leaned in so your foreheads touched.

“God, Y/N,” he sighed. “I want you.”

You put a hand on his chest and stepped back. He opened his eyes to look at you.

“I want you too,” you said. “But I can’t right now. I’m still -”

“Don’t say dirty,” he cut across you.

That was a word you had consistently used when talking to Roger about your feelings after you were attacked. He insisted you weren’t, that the only people at fault were Stephen and Mark. They were the dirty ones. But you couldn’t help but feel it. You were so violated. And you could still see the bruises in the mirror. It had only been a few days, so they were green and ugly. You didn’t want Roger to see.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. 

“Don’t cry, my love,” he said gently, pulling you close to him. “Kiss me again.”

You smiled as you obliged. You felt heat surge through your blood as your mouth moved along with his. It felt right. You fit perfectly together. When you parted again, you looked up at him.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight,” you said.

He smiled. “That’s generous. Are you sure?”

You nodded. “But just cuddling. You can wait and hope for better things if you want.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll hold you.”

Smiling, you led him to your room. You spent the second night in a row in Roger’s arms. 

The next day, you carefully inspected your face. You called Gary and told him you were ready to come back. Then you called Jack and told him to come see the show. Roger assured you he was proud and would support you through the process of getting back on stage. 

It felt great to get back in your dressing room. You got yourself ready to be Fanny Brice once again. It felt like coming home. Only now, it wasn’t empty. Because in the back of your heart, you had Roger as well. Everything was coming together at last. You weren’t sure if you’d been this happy since the day you married George. 

Gary called the cast together after everyone was dressed. As you all gathered on stage, you took in his expression and your brow furrowed. He looked distressed. 

“Hey, everyone,” he said, a glum tone overcoming him. “I’ve got some bad news. Our show is closing in two months. They’re replacing us with Mark Hudson’s Oklahoma.”


	8. Chapter 8

What was supposed to be your triumphant return to stage turned out to be the worst news you could receive. Your mouth dropped as you looked at Gary. A wave a disappointment hit you and your castmates. 

“We’ve only got two more months?” Eric repeated, clearly trying to take it in.

Gary nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rain on your parade.”

You all chuckled half heartedly as Gary tried to smile. 

“Needless to say, you’re all excused from rehearsal if you need to go audition,” he continued. “Talk to your agents and I hope you can all go from here better actors.”

Everyone began to disperse, but you were frozen to the spot. Funny Girl had gotten you through everything this last year and a half and you weren’t quite ready yet to leave Fanny behind. Not to mention everything else you’d have to leave. Suddenly, you ran from the stage, heading for the dressing rooms for one last touch up before curtain.

After the show, you felt yourself becoming a little emotional as you took your bows. Knowing you only had two more months of this show, as this character, on this stage. 

When you got back to your flat, Roger was there, going through your record collection. You put your keys on the table and walked over to him.

“You’ve got more musical soundtracks than anyone I know,” he said.

“I need my inspiration,” you told him. 

“Aha!” he cried, plucking two from the box. “Queen! And Aerosmith! That’s better.”

“Those were George’s,” you said. 

“Come on, love, why are you taking this away from me?”

You smiled a little, but then you remembered what you had to tell him. Your face fell.

“What is it?” he wondered. “I’m only joking. You can listen to show tunes all you like.”

“It’s not that,” you said. “Gary told us before the show tonight that we’re closing in two months.” You decided to leave out the part about Mark’s show taking over. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing your arms in comfort. “But you’ll find something else.”

“It’s not that simple, Roger,” you began. “If I don’t have work here, then my visa expires. I’ll have to go home to America.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passed between you.

“Well, you’ll find another job, you’ll see,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. 

“I don’t have an agent,” you reminded him. “Without that, it’ll be hard for me to find auditions. I have an agent in New York, but he’s more than likely going to find shows for me there.”

“There’s got to be something we can do so you can stay,” he insisted. 

“Maybe…” you weren’t sure how to say this. “Maybe it’s time I do go home.”

He blinked at you. “Why?”

“This was only supposed to be temporary,” you explained. “I wanted to get away from New York after losing George, and it definitely helped, but maybe it’s time I just...go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” he said simply. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

“What would have me do?” you asked. “Become an English citizen?”

“Yes,” he said. 

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” he cried. “Move here! There’s tons of opportunity! And I want to be with you.”

“We’ve only just started out, Rog,” you said. “That’s an awfully big commitment to make for...whatever it is we’re doing.”

“We’re not just, messing around,” he said. “Y/N, I…

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your lips. “You do?”

He grinned back. “Yeah. I really do. I’m not ready to be apart from you. I don’t think I ever will be.”

“I love you, too,” you told him, and it was true. 

He stepped forward and you coiled your arms around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours and you just held each other for a moment. Then he closed the distance and kissed you softly, his arms wrapping around your waist. He lifted you off your feet as you went. Without warning, he put you down and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said, but he looked deep in thought. “C’mere and kiss me.”

The next morning, Roger was up uncharacteristically early and left, claiming he had to meet someone but would return before too long. You were too sleepy to press him on the matter, so you returned to a rather nice dream you were having in which you and Roger were somewhere tropical and getting very drunk.

He shook you awake about an hour later. You sat up and shoved your hair out of your face irritably. 

“What the hell?!”

“You’re gonna love me,” he said with a smirk.

“Wanna bet?” you spat.

“Listen, you cranky girl,” he returned. “I’ve solved our problem.”

“Oh, yeah, because you’re such a ray of sunshine in the morning,” you grumbled. “What’s this solution, then?”

“Get dressed and come with me,” he said. “I’ve found you an agent.”

You blinked at him. “Roger...are you serious?”

“No, I’m taking the piss,” he said sarcastically. “I would definitely lie to you about something this serious.”

You snagged your pillow and smacked him in the chest with it. “It’s too early for your snark!”

“Y/N, I’ve found you an agent, I shit you not,” he said. “Come on!”

You leapt from the bed and scrambled to put some real clothes on, asking Roger to excuse you as you did so. He did. You threw on a skirt, blouse, and heels before rushing to the bathroom to brush your teeth and hair. You also applied some lipstick and mascara to pull it all together. When you emerged from your bedroom, Roger smiled.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said.

You kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go!”

He offered you his arm, and you took it. When you got to the street, he hailed a cab and he helped you in. His energy was rubbing off on you. He was so excited, and you couldn’t help but share in it. When you pulled up to the office, you became a little nervous. Roger took your hand.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

You nodded and followed him out of the cab and into the building. The receptionist told you to go in, since Roger had already booked the appointment. When you opened the door, you were met with a shock. Behind the desk sat Donna, one of the women Roger had brought to your dressing room. You opened your mouth to speak but had no words.

“Y/N, you remember Donna,” Roger said.

She got up from her seat and smiled at you. “Hello again,” she said sweetly, extending her hand.

“Hi,” you said, nervously shaking it. “I don’t even know what to say right now.”

Donna chuckled. “Well, don’t think too much of it. Roger told me a bit about what happened with your previous agent, and I’m so sorry. I can promise you now I will never ask you to meet someone in a hotel room.”

“That’s a relief,” you told her.

“Please, sit down,” she offered.

You and Roger took seats opposite from her. She resumed her place behind the desk.

“Well, I know how great you are in Funny Girl, so I’ve already called around,” she said. “My flatmate from school is actually directing a smaller show, and her lead actress just dropped out to start a family. Have you heard of She Loves Me?”

You nodded. “A little. I didn’t see it, but I read the reviews.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” she said. “Can you audition for her next week?”

“Do I need to prepare something?”

“Actually, she wants to hear you sing from the show and read with the lead actor,” she explained. “She wants to see your natural inclinations on stage. So really all you need to do to prepare is rest your voice.”

“Somehow that makes me more nervous,” you said.

Roger put a hand on your shoulder. “You’re gonna be fantastic, love.”

“Thank you,” you returned. 

“So, would you like me to call her and set up a time?” Donna asked.

“Oh, please,” you said. 

“Great, I’ll give you a call when the appointment is set,” she said. 

“Thank you, Donna,” you said earnestly. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned. “When Roger came to my office this morning asking for a favor, I was fully prepared to tell him to piss off, but when he said it was for you, I was happy to help.”

Roger blushed and looked at the carpet. You bit your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Well, it’s appreciated anyway,” you said. You look at Roger. “Could you give us a minute?”

“God, yes,” he sighed and hurried out of the room.

You and Donna watched him go and then turned to each other and giggled.

“I’m not actually that hurt he didn’t call after our date,” she admitted, quietly. “But it’s the principle of the matter, y’know?”

“He’s gotta learn,” you said with a playful shrug. “Can I ask you a really personal question?”

She raised her eyes. “Sure.”

“When you were with Roger....what was he….like?” you asked, your uncertainty making you blush.

“In the bedroom?” she clarified, and you nodded. “Well, he’s an accomplished lover, and he ought to be considering all the practice he’s had. But to be honest, Y/N, it’s going to be different with you.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Roger loves you. That makes all the difference in the world.”

You beamed, thanked her again, and left.

When audition day rolled around, you were ready. All your bruises had healed and you had been practicing. Donna called and told you the director did want to hear one prepared song before you sang from the show. You were careful to practice only when Roger was gone because he was going to the audition with you and the song you chose was a surprise for him. You did sing it once for Jack before he returned to the States, and he told you Roger might love it so much “he’ll get down on one knee and propose.” You rolled your eyes before telling Jack how much you were going to miss him.

The audition was at the theater this time. Rehearsals has just begun since the lead actress had left so last minute. Roger took your hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. You held his gaze and took a deep breath.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’re gonna smash it.”

“I believe you,” you said with a smile.

When you walked in, you saw the lead actor, the director, and a little girl who was maybe five sitting on the stage. They got up when they saw you.

“You must be Y/N,” the director said as she motioned for you to join them. “I’m Holly. This is my daughter, Maggie, and your potential co-star, Richard.”

You shook Holly’s and Richard’s hands but Maggie sprang to her feet and hugged you round the legs. You completely melted and hugged her back.

“She’s friendly,” Holly said a little apologetically.

“I love it,” you replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Maggie said. “It’s my birthday today!”

“Happy birthday!” you said. 

“Thank you!” she replied. 

“This is Roger,” you said, remembering him. “He’s going to stay and watch if that’s alright.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Holly assured you. She looked at him. “You can have a seat anywhere you like.”

He offered a cheeky salute and took a seat in the front row. Maggie couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

“Are you Roger Taylor?” she asked. “From Queen?”

He removed his sunglasses to look at her. “I...am,” he said, a little surprised. “How do you know that?”

Holly sighed. “Sorry, her dad’s a big fan.”

Still looking at Maggie, he said, “You have a very cool dad.”

Holly turned to address you, but before she could say anything, the door to the auditorium opened again and in walked Freddie, looking immensely and effortlessly cool, even if he was late. Although, you didn’t even know he was coming.

“Y/N, my dear,” he said with a smile. “I’ve come to bring you luck.”

Holly and Richard exchanged shocked glances. Maggie wasted no time in sprinting over to say hello. She looked up at him, wonder claiming her little face. Freddie knelt down to her level.

“Hello, little dove,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Maggie,” she told him. “Today’s my birthday, Mr. Mercury!”

“It is?!” he cried, delighted. “Well, happy birthday! How old are you today?”

“Six,” she said. 

“Six years old! You’re practically a lady!”

She giggled.

“Want to sit with me while my good friend Y/N sings?”

She nodded and followed him to sit beside Roger. She crawled into Freddie’s lap while he and Roger shook hands and said hello.

“Well,” said Holly. “Um, will there be any other rock stars joining us?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Not to my knowledge. If Freddie’s arrived, they’d have been here by now.”

Freddie feigned offense. Roger snickered. 

“Are you ready to begin?” Holly asked. 

You nodded and she called for the pianist to come in. When you handed him the sheet music, he shook his head in disbelief. 

“Are you sure this is right?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you said.

You locked eyes with Roger as the pianist played the first few notes. You knew it would take him a moment to recognize it in this setting. You smirked as your cue came.

“ _ The machine of a dream, _ ” you began, and you had to hold back a laugh as Roger nearly fell out of his seat. “ _ Such a clean machine… _ ”

Roger clutched his chest as he looked at you, emotion welling up in him. Freddie’s mouth was hanging open. Holly looked surprised but impressed. Maggie danced from her perch on Freddie’s lap. You belted out Roger’s song, so proud you could burst. When you hit the last note and finished, Freddie and Maggie burst into applause. Roger was frozen in place, just admiring you.

“That was a bold choice,” Holly said, glancing over to your entourage. “But I can see why you chose it.”

“It’s a good song,” you said with a shrug. “And I like to take a risk every now and again.”

“I like that,” Holly returned. “Well done you.”

“Thanks!”

Richard joined you on stage, and handed you a script so you could being reading. You met Roger’s gaze just once more and winked at him. He blew you a kiss in return. 

You went back and forth with Richard and found yourself slipping into the character of Amalia Balash easily. You related to her spirited and feisty nature. Some of her lines reminded you sharply of the things you thought about Roger when you first met him. Richard was also fun to work with and made you laugh a few times.

When it was over, Holly looked hard at you and Richard. You glanced over at Roger and saw that he had his fingers crossed.

“Y/N, I really like you for this part,” Holly said. “I’d like to officially offer it to you. We can work around your Funny Girl schedule until it ends.”

“Really?!” you gasped. “That’s great! I accept!”

“I’m thrilled!” Holly returned. “Let me go and call the producer and tell him the good news.”

She left, and Richard shook your hand and offered congratulations. Then Roger hopped onto the stage, picked you up around the waist and spun you around, kissing every part of you his lips could reach. You laughed and held him tight.

“You - were - incredible!” he cried between kisses. “I have never loved you more!”

“Y/N, you were fabulous,” Freddie said. “Congratulations, darling.”

Roger allowed him to kiss your cheek.

Maggie ran over to Richard and he scooped her up and tickled her. Her shrieks of mirth reflected your own feelings. You felt on top of the world. You had an agent. You had a new show booked. And you had Roger Taylor.

Maggie came back over to you. She looked at Freddie. “Will you sing me the birthday song?” she asked.

“It’s my specialty,” he replied and went over to the piano, taking a seat on the bench. 

Roger slipped an arm around your shoulders. Maggie was so grateful and so sweet and clearly adored Freddie. You, Roger, and Richard all joined in to finish the song, and she clapped like mad when it was over. Then you all sat on the stage and watched her do the Charleston, since she had just learned it in dance class.

When Holly returned, she lingered in the back of the theater, talking to a man you assumed was the producer. You started to straighten up your skirt but then you saw Maggie’s face. She had completely hardened looking at the newcomer. Freddie, Roger, and Richard were deep in another conversation.

“Maggie,” you said, stepping over to her. “What is it?”

“I don’t like that man,” she told you, shrinking closer to you. “He isn’t very nice to girls and Mum gets sad whenever she has to talk to him.”

“That’s no good,” you said. “Why does she talk to him if it makes her sad?”

“She says it’s because he’s so popular and she doesn’t want her other friends to choose him,” she explained. “So she’s nice to him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you continued. 

“I thought you were supposed to stand up to bullies,” she said. “I don’t know why she doesn’t just stand up to him.”

You had to think about that, unsure how to explain to a child the complexities of the adult world and those sorts of relationships, particularly in your career. Then, the man and Holly stepped into the light. You felt the color drain from your face as you recognized Mark Hudson. 

After Mark attacked you, Roger consistently asked you why you weren’t angry. You had gone through so many emotions, but anger never fully formed. Until now. Now, it coursed through you, white hot and dangerous. 

As you looked over at Maggie, you thought of your younger self. What would the girl who made her brother eat dirt say to you now? Would she be proud of you? You got to your feet, standing squarely to face him.

“Mark!” you said in a sickeningly sweet voice. 

You felt Roger’s eyes get missile lock on Mark. Then they flickered over to you as you walked down the aisle toward your old assailant. Roger jogged to catch up and tried to move past you, eager to lunge at Mark, but you held him back by his arm. 

“Don’t,” you said under your breath.

“Y/N,” Mark returned your greeting. “Good to see you again, kid.”

You flinched inwardly at the endearment. That was how he saw you from the moment you met him - a helpless little girl. 

You walked closer and he had the nerve to open his arms for a hug. Like you were old friends or something. You closed your eyes and reminded yourself that what you were about to do was for every little girl - like Maggie, and the one still inside yourself - who deserved more.

Swiftly, you delivered a hard kick between his legs. He yelped, and as he doubled over, you rammed your fist into his nose with all your might. You heard the crack of it beneath your knuckles and felt hot, sticky blood run across your skin. Adrenaline pumped through you so hard you didn’t even hear the gasps of everyone around you or the soft thud of Mark hitting the floor.

You turned and faced Maggie, who was grinning all the way across her face.

“You’re right, Maggie,” you said. “You’re supposed to stand up to bullies.”

She giggled. Mark struggled to his feet and reached for you, but Roger and Freddie jumped between you and shoved him backwards. Roger started to do more, but Freddie stopped him. Mark wiped the blood dripping into his mouth away and glared at you

“You’ll never work in this industry again, kid,” he warned. “I’ll see to that.”

You flipped him off. He limped out, one hand on his nose, the other on his crotch.

“What the hell was that?!” Roger demanded.

“I made it to the rage phase,” you said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in this chapter!

When you got back to your flat, Roger kissed you hard as soon as the door clicked shut. You gasped in surprise, but his lips swallowed it. You buried your fingers in his hair and pulled him impossibly closer to you. You quickly became a mess of hot breath, wet lips, and quick touches of skin. Roger pulled back and looked intently at you.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said.

You felt yourself flush at the words as the heat began to build in your tummy. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, eager for contact. You felt his hardness against your leg and you had to bite back a sigh.

“I want you,” you replied. “Now.”

“You sure you’re ready?” he wondered, cradling your face in his hands. “I don’t want to frighten you.”

You nodded eagerly. “You could never frighten me, Roger Taylor. I trust you.”

You did. With your life, with your body, and with your heart. 

He wasted no time in returning his lips to yours, and he pushed you up against the wall. He swiped his tongue across your lower lip for permission to enter. You opened your mouth to grant it, and at the same time, he ground his hips into yours from his spot between your legs. You groaned into his mouth.

When he needed air, he pulled back but moved to your neck, leaving a tail of soft kisses and gentle nips until he found a spot by your ear that made you gasp and shiver. You were so sensitive since it had been so long. You could already feel your underwear getting soaked. You were sure Roger could feel it too against his leg but you didn’t care. You figured he enjoyed it. Desperate for more, you took his hand and placed it on your breast.

He chuckled against your throat and whispered, “Someone’s needy.”

“Shut up,” you breathed back.

You reached for the buttons on his shirt and began undoing them, slowly because Roger’s hands and lips were such a distraction. You pushed it over his shoulders and onto the floor, and then took a moment to admire his body. He smirked as your pupils dilated with lust. It wasn’t an expression he’d ever seen on you before and he liked that he created it. He started to give your blouse the same treatment, but he was taking the buttons at a glacial pace in your opinion.

“Oh, fuck the buttons,” you huffed and reached down to pull the thing over your head and toss it to join Roger’s. Your bra followed right after.

Roger sighed at the picture of you, panting and ready for him. But he only waited a moment before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. You moaned and latched on to his hair again. He took your other breast in his hand and kneaded it gently and you felt like electricity was coming from his palms.

“Fucking perfect tits,” he said as his lips grazed the skin in the valley between your breasts. “So beautiful.”

“Roger,” you sighed in return. “Bedroom.”

Without hesitation, he grabbed you by the ass and carried you, laughing, into your bedroom. When he lay you down, you took hold of his belt to try and unbuckle it, but he stopped you. You shot him a confused glance.

“Let me treat you,” he said. “It’s been a while for you and I want you to be ready for me.”

You pouted a little and he groaned. 

“You can jerk me off another time,” he said.

You shook your head. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Fuck,” he said and swallowed thickly. “You’re a naughty little thing. But still, another time. Tonight’s for you.”

You laid back down and allowed him to continue. He found the zipper on the side of your skirt and pulled it down. You lifted your hips so he could yank the skirt down you legs and chuck it to the side. You made quick work of your panties, to his immense pleasure. He let his hands glide over your thighs and you writhed beneath him, impatient. 

“Shh,” he said. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby girl, just enjoy it.”

You couldn’t help but wriggle again. You were aching for him, and you could see his own arousal in his jeans. It had to be driving him just as crazy and you wondered how he was controlling himself. He pressed his lips to your lower thigh, and made his way slowly up the inside of it. He skipped over where you needed him most, but he did blow a little air over it, which caused you to dig your heels into the mattress. 

“Roger,” you whined and you heard him chuckle. 

“God, I love it when you say my name,” he replied.

“Roger, please!”

He sank a finger into you and you groaned with relief. His thumb found your clit and rubbed soft circles on it as his finger teased your g-spot. Your breath caught in your throat and you clung desperately to his arms. 

“So good for me,” he said as he watched you jerk beneath him. “So fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t form words. The coil in your belly tightened as he continued his ministrations. You bucked your hips for more friction, and then Roger held them down. You whined a little in protest, but  _ fuck _ it felt good. You felt yourself pulsing around him. 

“You gonna cum, baby girl?” he asked, growling in your ear. “Gonna cum around my fingers?”

You could only nod before it happened. You came completely undone and cried out his name once again as you rode out your orgasm on his hand. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he praised, kissing you again as he pulled his fingers out. “You want my mouth?”

“No,” you panted. “No, Roger, I need you inside me. Just fuck me,  _ please _ .”

He smirked, which you ignored and you once again went for his pants. He beat you to his belt, but you cupped him through his jeans. He groaned at the feeling. You let go to let him finish undressing. You admired his body as he did so. His cock sprung out and you bit your lip with anticipation. 

“C’mere, baby girl,” he whispered and he kissed you again.

He slid inside you. You both moaned as you connected and he filled you up. When he bottomed out inside you, he held still for a moment so you could adjust. He fit so well and you felt incredibly sexy. 

“Move, baby,” you said.

He obeyed, starting with a slow, even pace. He pulled almost completely out before thrusting back in. You picked up his rhythm and bucked to match him, coming together at your hips. One of his hands grabbed a breast while the other found your clit again and you wondered if you could last with him touching you that way. You moaned again, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He twitched inside you as you built up speed, and every snap of his hips reminded you what you were a part of:  _ us, us, us, us _ . 

You found yourself out of breath as your second climax arose. Your hands raked down his back as you held on tight. You heard a rumble in his chest as he pressed on, and his finger started making hard and fast circles on your clit. He was as close as you were. 

“Want - ” he began but had to moan. “Want you to cum first.”

“I’m there, Rog,” you whined. “Nearly there.”

With a little more pressure, you released again, pulsing around his cock. Your finish sent him over the edge and you felt him let go inside you. Your chest heaved as you came down, breathless and trembling. He kissed you all over your face - your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your cheeks. Then he just held you close, resting his forehead against yours as you both began to relax. When both your breathing evened out, he rolled over to lie next to you. 

You rested your head on his chest and looked up at him. “Roger Taylor, I want you to know that as of now there is no one in the world who has a higher opinion of you than I do.”

He laughed wholeheartedly and cupped your face in his hands. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you returned. 

“Really,” he said, sitting up on his elbow so he could look at you. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

You pressed your lips to his chest. “I really love you too, Roger. So much.”

You couldn’t match his sentiment about more than anyone else. You had loved George just as much. Roger was different, though. 

“Y/N,” he said, taking you out of your thoughts. “I meant what I said before. I want you to move here permanently.”

You sighed. “That’s a really big thing to do,” you reminded him. “I don’t know if I can commit to something like that for a boyfriend.”

“What if I wasn’t your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Are you gonna break up with me?” you wondered, frowning.

“No,” he chuckled. “I mean...what if I was your husband?”

You felt your heart skip a beat. 

“What?”

“Y/N, let’s get married.”


	10. Chapter 10

_ “Y/N, let’s get married.” _

You blinked at him a few times, unsure if you’d heard him right. Was he honestly proposing to you right now? It was the last thing you expected and you didn’t really know how to feel. You’d only known Roger a few months. You’d been married before. You’d had a life in America as well. Could you give all that up? 

“Roger, I…” you trailed off. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say yes,” he replied as if it were obvious. 

“It’s not that simple,” you said. “We haven’t known each other very long and I’ve been…”

“I know you’ve been married before,” he said. 

“I also had a whole life,” you continued. “Friends, Jack, George’s grave. All of that is back home.”

“Your friends and brother can visit,” he came back with. “And George...look, he’s always gonna be with you. You carry his memory and honor him, not some headstone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but had no words. Why were you fighting this? You loved Roger and you wanted to be with him forever. Nothing else mattered. George would have wanted you to find happiness, and you did. 

“Yes,” you said, and you weren’t even sure if it was you. 

“Sorry?” he replied, putting his hand to his ear and smiling.

You beamed at him. “Yes, Roger, I’ll marry you!”

You threw your arms around his neck and he rolled on top of you again. You kissed for what felt like years, and you were so elated, you couldn’t stop smiling. Roger whispered “I love you” between kisses over and over again. You repeated it back to him. You were drowning in sea of adoration and neither you or Roger were going to come up for air. 

You fell asleep in each others’ arms. At home.

When you woke, the early morning light was just barely peeking through the blinds. Roger was already up, and you heard his voice coming softly from the living room. You guessed he was on the phone, so you got up to start breakfast. When you opened the door to head to the kitchen, you stopped. Roger was standing at your mantle, his back to your bedroom door. He wasn’t on the phone, but he was talking. To George. Your heart melted as you listened.

“Thanks, I suppose, for being her husband and doing all you did,” he was saying. “She’s a wonderful woman and she wouldn’t be who she is without you. I’m - uh - I’m gonna try and be as good a husband to her as you were. I’ll take care of her, no matter what, so - wherever you are - you don’t need to worry. I’ve got it from here. Rest easy, mate.”

You felt tears prick your eyes but you rubbed them away. You didn’t want him to know you’d heard. It felt so private, but you were glad you heard too. It made you love Roger impossibly more. You wanted to go to him and tell him how much it meant to you. But instead you stretched, yawned and opened the door a little wider, pretending you had only just woken up.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, turning to face you.

“Good morning,” you replied as he wrapped you up in his arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. “But we are getting entirely too mushy.”

You giggled. “Want me to start being rude to you again?”

“Maybe every once in a while, just to keep me grounded.”

“That can be arranged.”

You had breakfast together before you each had to go to rehearsals - you to your new show and Roger with Queen. All through rehearsal you felt on top of the world because a single thought hovered at the back of your mind:  _ I’m engaged to Roger Taylor, love of my life _ . It didn’t scare you. You were ready to be a wife -  _ his _ wife. You felt incredibly lucky to have found love once with George, and you didn’t know how you had earned another shot at it with Roger. But you would not take it for granted.

After rehearsal at She Loves Me, you went to Funny Girl to get ready for the night’s show. You didn’t even feel tired. Nothing could spoil the happiness you felt.

The show went well, and you headed home. Your feet hurt a little now, after being on them all day, but you still felt a leap of excitement in your chest when you saw Roger on the couch. He grinned at you as you took a seat beside him.

“You’re a busy woman now,” he remarked.

You hummed against him, your exhaustion hitting you like a wall now that you were home. He put his arm around your shoulders.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said.

You looked up at him. “You do?”

He nodded and then reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, velvet box. You gasped. He opened it to reveal a delicate diamond ring. It was small, but very beautiful.

“Would you wear this?” he asked, and you saw pink spreading across his cheeks. “It’s not much, I know. Not even a full carat. Just a diamond chip. But it was my mother’s and -”

You cut him off with a kiss. “It’s beautiful,” you said. “I’ll wear it forever.”

The look on his face as you said this made your chest actually ache with love for him. He had tears in his eyes. He blinked them back as he looked at  you, and then slid the ring onto your finger.

“I’d love to meet her,” you said. “Your mother.”

“You’d love her,” he told you. “She’ll love you too, I promise. Even if you are an American.”

You chuckled and pulled him close, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Rog,” you said after a beat. “Do...do you want children?”

“Oh, yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “‘Course I do. Especially with you.”

“Good,” you said and kissed his cheek. 

You went to bed shortly after, and Roger made love to you twice before you actually fell asleep. You were out hard, but in the early morning hours, you were woken by Roger crying out beside you. You sat upright and recognized it once again. He was having another nightmare, only this one must have been much worse. You called to him for several minutes, but he wasn’t waking up. His body thrashed and you felt a twinge of fear. What could you do?

“Roger!” you yelled, since using a normal volume wasn’t working. “Roger, wake up!”

You reached out a hesitant hand, worried he might lash out against your touch. But you had to do something. You couldn’t just let him suffer this way. You took hold of his shoulders and shook him. When his eyes snapped open, he grabbed you roughly by the arms. His eyes were wild and frightened. 

“Roger,” you said gently. “It’s me, my darling. I’m here. You’re safe.”

His lower lip quivered before he actually let out a sob and yanked you close to him. He buried his face in your chest and wept into you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him tight. You had no words. His clutched handfuls of your nightgown, like a little boy might cling to his mother.

“Y/N,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop that,” you told him. “I’ve got you, Rog.”

He murmured more apologies to you under his breath, and you shushed him. Then you began to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” again. His muscles relaxed beneath your touch and his breathing evened out as you made your way through the song. 

“Can you tell me what you dreamt?” you asked when you finished.

He shook his head. “S’too awful.”

“I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Several long minutes of silence passed between you. He had calmed down but his heart was still beating faster than normal. You rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“It was my dad,” he said finally.

“Your dad?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He used to...beat on us a lot. He was angry. And drunk. One time it got so bad...I actually thought I was gonna die. I was ten.”

He went on, and described a lot of the other abuses he’d suffered. It made you wince at times, hearing the brutality of some of it. You wondered how he had come out of it with such unbridled love for others.

“Oh, Roger, I am so sorry,” you said. 

“You’re not worried?” he asked, his voice smaller than you could ever remember hearing.

“Why would I be worried?”

He looked at you and held your gaze. “I’m not him, I promise. I would never, ever...hit you or our kids and I don’t want you to think that because I grew up that way you’ve got to worry about…” he trailed off. “I’ll never do that, Y/N. I swear.”

“I was never worried about that,” you told him. “And I never will. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all you’ve been through. I’ll never let anybody hurt you again.”

He looked at you with a confused expression. “No one’s ever made that promise to me before.”

“I’m making it to you,” you said. “I made my big brother eat dirt and punched a director in the face. I don’t mess around.”

He finally smiled. “You are very strong, my love.”

“So are you,” you reminded him. “Let’s be strong together.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Taylor,” he agreed.

 

On your next day off, you went to the studio with Roger and the guys. They all congratulated you on the engagement as well as your new show. You thanked them earnestly and told them how grateful you were for their support through everything. Then they got in the booth and began their business. 

You sat outside it with Paul, who you didn’t know a lot about. Roger hated Paul and complained about him a lot. Called him names you wouldn’t repeat and made you blush, and you had been married to a Marine. Although some of them just made you admire Roger’s creativity. Needless to say, your opinion of Paul was not a high one.

“So,” he said as he took a seat beside you on the couch. “Someone finally made Roger Taylor a one woman man.”

You couldn’t understand what he was trying to get at so you just looked at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“Are you so sure he’s committed to you?”

You remembered the night Roger finally told you about his nightmares and the things you promised each other. You remembered him punching your shitty agent and sleeping on your couch so you felt safe. You remembered him teaching you to drum before asking for a dance lesson. 

“Yes,” you said. “I’m sure.”

Paul wiped his palms on his jeans and looked down. “Jesus, Y/N, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but…” he trailed off. “Roger left the pub last night with a woman. I saw it.”

You remembered Roger telling you he was going out with the guys last night, but it was just going to be Queen and some other music people getting drinks. He had even invited you to go. You had refused, too tired to enjoy it, and told Roger to have fun. He had gotten in around two in the morning, and only woke you briefly when he crawled into bed beside you, smelling like his usual scent of cigarettes and cologne. 

You just stared at Paul and felt such a wave of hatred you felt sure he could feel it radiating from you. It was such a shitty thing to do, and you didn’t know what Roger had done to piss Paul off and motivate him to tell you lies.

“No, Paul,” you said levelly, shaking your head. “Roger did not do that.”

He scoffed. “Wh - but I saw him!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You know what he’s like.”

“Yeah, I do, so I know he didn’t fucking do that.”

Little did you know, the whole time you’d been speaking to Paul, Roger, who had returned to get his drum sticks out of his bag, was listening at the door. He heard your flat denial of Paul’s accusation - which was entirely false - and he swelled with pride. Before Paul could continue, Roger opened the door. Paul actually jumped a little.

“Left my sticks,” Roger said, going over to his bag and retrieving them. 

“All right, Roger?” Paul asked. 

“Yeah, fuck you, Paul,” he replied coldly. 

Roger then went over to you and kissed the top of your head. He went back into the studio and began his practice. You watched him, proud beyond all measure. You knew as you looked at Roger, nothing and no one could take him from you.

 

The weeks passed, and before you knew it, it was your final night as Fanny Brice in Funny Girl. You were upset to let this show go. It had helped you heal after losing George. It had introduced you to Roger. It was such a place of comfort for you throughout your time in London. You didn’t know how you were going to say goodbye. 

Roger promised to be there. Freddie, Brian, and John also decided to come. You saw where they would be sitting beforehand so you could wave to them during your bows. You tucked your hair into your wig cap and heard a knock at the door. 

“Roger?” you gasped in pleasant surprise as you opened it. “What are you doing back here?”

He handed you the bouquet he was holding. “I came to tell you to break a leg.”

He placed a sweet peck on your lips as you let him inside.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said. “They’re lovely.”

“I know they’re usually meant for afterwards,” he said. “But I just couldn’t wait.”

You smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulled you into a hug, sensing your emotion. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“Just a little sad,” you answered. “I love this show so much. I’m gonna miss being Fanny.”

“This audience is gonna miss you too,” he said. “But you’re gonna be great in She Loves Me. Just as funny, talented, and beautiful as ever.”

“Oh, how you run on,” you teased.

“You’re gonna be great tonight,” he said. “Give it all you’ve got.”

“I will,” you assured him.

With one last “I love you” he left to take his seat. 

You finished getting ready and before you hit the stage for the last time, you felt a flutter in your stomach. You were nervous and yet, so excited for the next part of your life you could barely stand it. You took a deep breath, stepped into the lights, and put on the show of a lifetime.

Finally, it was time for the last scene. My Man. You wondered how you were going to get through it tonight. Your own words echoed in your mind:  _ It’s a simple trick, really. I sing it to my husband _ . Your eyes went to the box where Roger sat, right by the stage, and you met his gaze. A tear fell preemptively down your cheek. You opened your mouth and sang like you’d never sung before to your husband. Your man. Forever.

_ Oh my man I love him so, he'll never know _

_ All my life is just despair but I don't care _

_ When he takes me in his arms _

_ The world is bright, alright _

_ What's the difference if I say "I'll go away" _

_ When I know I'll come back on my knees someday _

_ For whatever my man is, I am his _

_ Forever more _


	11. Chapter 11

“Okay, Ophelia, open wide!” you cooed at your little daughter, bringing a spoonful of baby food to her mouth. She giggled a little as she swallowed it. “That’s a good girl!”

“Mummy, can we go outside now?” your other daughter, Darcy, asked. 

“You’ve barely touched your lunch and I’m not finished feeding your sister,” you replied. “Just a few more minutes, darling.”

She groaned and began shoveling the rest of her macaroni into her mouth. 

“Slow down,” you said. “You don’t want to choke.”

You turned back to Ophelia and fed her another mouthful. The front door opened and your daughters squealed with delight as Roger came into the kitchen. He smiled, but you could tell something was wrong.

“Daddy!” Darcy cried, clamoring out of her chair and flinging herself into his arms.

He picked her up and spun her around as she shrieked with mirth. He kissed her cheeks a rubbed his stubble against them.

“Daddy scratchy face! Daddy scratchy face!” he teased as she wriggled in his grasp. 

“Da!” Ophelia interrupted, grabbing for him with her tiny fist. “Da!”

He set Darcy down and walked over to the high chair, kneeling in front of it. “How’s my little Ophelia? Being a good girl for Mummy?”

She smiled a wide, toothy (though she had few) grin and took hold of his hair. He pressed his lips to her hand, to her immense delight. Then she released him. 

“Daddy, I wanna go outside and play,” Darcy said. 

“Did Mum say you could?” he replied.

She huffed and looked at you. “Can I go? Daddy can come with me.”

You glanced over at her bowl of mostly eaten macaroni and nodded. “You can go now.”

She took his hand to lead him back out to the driveway, but he stopped her.

“Just a moment, I haven’t even said hello to your mother,” he said, turning to you. “Hello, my love.” He kissed you sweetly on the lips.

“Ewwww,” Darcy whined.

“Go,” you told him. “Ophelia and I will join you in a few minutes.”

He pecked your lips one more time before allowing Darcy to lead him out. It was summer and she loved to draw with sidewalk chalk. You finished up feeding Ophelia after a few minutes and then carried her out to join them.

Darcy was showing Roger all her artwork from the morning. 

“That’s Uncle Brian,” she said, pointing to the smiley face she drew with wild, curly hair.

“Uncanny,” he praised. 

“There’s Uncle John, you, and Uncle Freddie!” she continued. 

You sat on the steps of your porch and watched. Roger’s face shifted as he looked at Darcy’s rudimentary depiction of Freddie. He quickly recovered as Darcy pressed on, telling him that she still needed to draw instruments, but she’d need his help to remember “how many drums,” as she put it.

Ophelia squirmed in your arms, eager to be a part of whatever her sister and father were doing. You set her on her feet so she could toddle over to them. Roger beamed at her approach, and handed her a piece of chalk. She sat down and scribbled the ground beside her, utterly thrilled to be doing it.

You smiled to yourself as the hot sun warmed your skin. But you were worried about Roger. Something was off, and you could tell. 

“Okay, girls, you keep drawing, I’m gonna go sit with Mum for a bit, yeah?” he said. “Darc, help your sister.”

“Got it,” Darcy replied.

He jogged over and took a seat beside you. He kissed your cheek and pulled you into his lap. 

“Roger!” you laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I just love you so much,” he told you. “I want to tell you every day because you’re perfect every day.”

“I love you too,” you returned, looking deeply in his eyes. “What brought all this on?”

“Nothing,” he insisted. “Let’s just enjoy this. I want to hold you and watch our beautiful girls.”

You indulged him and said no more. Meanwhile, he peppered kisses across your face and neck. You took his hand and interlocked your fingers.

“Do you miss performing?” he asked suddenly.

You took a moment for that. It had been years since you’d been in a show. After She Loves Me ran for two years, you and Roger wanted a family, so you’d retired. You had missed it a lot at first. Sometimes so much you ached. But as you looked at your daughters - Darcy was guiding Ophelia’s hand to draw a microphone - your heart swelled.

“I wouldn’t trade this for anything,” you told him.

“Good,” he said. “I just don’t want you to feel like...I dunno, you’re not completely and totally happy.”

“Roger, tell me what’s going on,” you said. “You know I’m happy being your wife and mother of your kids. Why are you talking like this?”

His eyes were suddenly shining with tears and he buried his face in your neck. 

“It’s Fred,” he choked out. “He’s got it. The same thing that took Jack. He told us this morning.”

You gasped, you hand covering your mouth. Your brother had died of AIDS about a year after Darcy was born. You remembered how Roger held you through the night as you sobbed. Your parents wrote and had absolutely forbid you from attending the funeral. You couldn’t believe Freddie Mercury had the same thing. He always felt immortal to you. And if Freddie died, what would become of his family, Queen?

“I’m so sorry, Rog,” you said, cradling his face. 

Without you noticing, the girls had walked over. Darcy looked concerned, and tilted her head with confusion. Ophelia crawled into his lap beside you.

“Daddy? Are you okay?” Darcy asked.

Roger rubbed his eyes and smiled at her. “Of course, lovie. C’mere.”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arm around her. He kissed each of you on the head. You tried to hold back you own emotion.

“I have everything I am ever going to need right here,” he whispered to you. “And I have never appreciated you more.”

That night, after you put the girls to sleep and got ready for bed yourself, Roger sat up, his brow furrowed.

“Y/N,” he said as you took your place beside him and snuggled under his arm. “Let’s try for a boy. What d’you think?”

“I think it’s wonderful,” you replied.

He kissed you.

“I love you so much,” he said.

“I love you too.”


End file.
